Lunch #2

What’s that? You see something else to that sandwich besides a salmon burger and a low-carb thin? Ok, I’ll tell you what it is if you promise not to shit yourself. It was an extra amount of smoothie ingredient (which is in the top right, next to the reflection of God spying on me and wishing he had kept all that culinary talent to Himself). No, it wasn't blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, or the physical manifestation of a Ninja's hate in berry form, but APPLE. After cutting some up to prep for the drink (just to piss the Ninja off of course) I sliced the rest up real thin-like and tossed it in the salmon-frying pan with about 5 minutes before the burger was done. And while I wish I could take full credit for this culinfestation (which I'm going to flag as not a perfect portmanteu of culinary + manifestation) I must tip my hat to history.

The truth is, apples and salmon have a long and tempestuous history, not unlike the Japanese gods Amaterasu and the Susanowo. I learned this in my college Japanese culture class; I was eating an artisan salad when I should’ve seen paying attention. (Note: that was a double move Champ Bailey would’ve fucking bit on. (Note note: the good news is, it’s impossible to alienate your audience when you don’t have one.)) I had a real point there, though: once Newton went and said gravity caused those apples to fall downward, salmon heard about it and started swimming upstream just to make him piss his pantaloons.

But more about that Japanese class. My professor graduated from both Harvard and Brown, which means he threw around superfluous synonyms like the football he invited the class to throw around outside and subsequently rocketed across the college lawn, which makes the amount of people able to understand this post somewhere around . I bring him up because he loved to say words that he just said but with different words, something I sometimes tend to JUST DID. So, take his recalling of the time the ocean god Susanowo crashed the sun god Amaterasu’s party and threw his poop everywhere. Give or take, that’s how the story goes and that’s how he explained it. Simple. After that, however, he decided to stroke his Ivy beard and dedicate a fucking platitude to the occasion, saying, “Nothing ruins a ritual food tasting worse than the liberal distribution of feces.” I would have shit myself right then if his mouth hadn’t beaten me to the punch.

Anyhoo, I have no way of tying that back to any coherent shit, so I’ll just