alright fans here we go.
my roommate caolan and i have imagineered another amazing burger. let me break this down for you
one half-pound patty
half pound of bacon
table spoon of butter (not just any butter mind you, but a highly specialized butter made by caolan and i. it was butter mixed with pure bacon grease. and garlic salt because we're out of regular salt)
bun made out of four regular buns.
i have dubbed it the Triple B, which might be the only thing i have ever capitalized on this blog. the Triple B of course stands for (bacon)buttery bacon burger. caolan further specialized his by creating a bacon frisco sauce. how he did this i will never know, his sorcerer ways are too far beyond my mortal understanding.
the patties themselves were cooked in the oven at 350 degrees for somewhere around 15 minutes i think. i lost track of the time because i was busy looking up bacon grease butter recipes, of which i found exactly zero. i have created bacon grease butter, this is my legacy. this is what i will be known for in history.
the main concern i had for this creation was whether or not the buns would hold up. after all we basically took a four bun thing and cut it in half to create the bun for the Triple B. it held up reasonably well, until i started dipping the Triple B into ketchup. i think the stress caused by picking it up and turning it over and doing the tango with it and all sorts of other dance moves/sports plays. it was then that the move called the Triple B division was created. the Triple B division is done by flipping the burger in half, and then in half again, creating a monstrosity known as the Triple B tower. caolan, using the unholy power that flows through his veins, was the first to master this technique. my attempt only brought shame to my family. i fully expect to be disowned for my transgressions.
pictures of the Triple B summoning process will be up tomorrow probably, i promise.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
TREY FACT OF THE DAY: whenever i talk to my grandmom or granddad my southern accent comes out like a guy on broadway (did you get the joke)
that wasn't the main point of making this blog post believe it or not. a little while ago i gave a friend some ideas for his comic and he decided to use one sort of! hurray for me! here's a link:
now granted i know you are all going to check that out to support me in my endeavors, because that's what a cavalcade of crazed fans is for. HOWEVER it would be awesome if you checked out the rest of his comics too, which are pretty neat even though his canadian i think
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
TREY FACT OF THE DAY(read: POST [read: MONTH OR SO]) i have been drinking hot chocolate like it was going out of style (if it goes out of style i will simply cease to exist).
okay so i guess something worth mentioning is i have a specific process for revising poetries. i do it as i go along, so really by the time i've finished writing a poem it's already been revised a bunch. granted it's mostly things like word choice and line breaks that get revised but i mean, that counts right? i do occasionally go back and add more to certain poetries, but for the most part nah. does that make me a bad writer? yeah probably. do i care? yeah a little. so i guess what you can take from this is that any poetries that show up on here are still definitely works in progress and i totally reserve the right to say they suck and take them down if they suck so bad i have to take them down.
that being said here is a poetries! it's about a sandwich i made one time
(untitled for now)
a loss of sight and sound means i have an excuse
to ignore the clicking clacking vorpal fangs that are said to lurk
always three feet nearby. Or an excuse to ignore
the high pitched whining nagging banshee scream that i get
from my smoke alarm when I go Dr. Frankenstein with the eggs
and the bacon that I exhume from the fridge. I call my frying pan Igor.
I slice and dice and splice together an abomination and grin wildly
when the grease pops bomb my bare flesh, melting the skin ever so slightly.
The Bacon Tomb is what this monster will be called when it terrorizes the villages
of my arteries. Six strips,
two eggs fried in bacon-born grease,
and untold amounts of peanut butter dripping through the cracks
and holes of buttered bread. The satisfying crunch echoes
in my mouth's cavern while the grease rises in revolt
and the bacon takes to arms
and the eggs boil tar and strip feathers
But I am too in love with my creature to notice my tower burning down.