Until next year, my little blue friends.
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The answer is diced watermelon, eaten out of a cheap plastic container with a cheap plastic fork at 9:24pm.

Be sure to phrase it in the form of a question.
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I’ve spent the last couple days house-sitting for my mom and dad while they took a mini-vacation.  (I still don’t know where they went.  I’ll find out on Monday, I guess.)

While I was there, I made a giant pot of chili for myself.  When I say “giant”, I mean there was at least two gallons of chili in that pot.  I wanted plenty of leftovers so I could share some with the ABC group on Tuesday, plus I like the idea of occasionally bringing a bowl of homemade chili for my lunch at work.

This was good chili.  I love super-hot chili, the hotter the better.  This came out sort of a medium-warm.  Still, I liked it.  I used two pounds of hot pork sausage and nine cloves of fresh chopped garlic and an entire jar of diced jalapenos.  If I could’ve found habaneros I would have used those instead.  Plus there were the usual “chili ingredients” like tomato juice, crushed tomatoes, and plenty of hot chili beans.  And spices.

The farts were amazing.  I’m not gonna lie.

So, when I got this “Power Blog” Award from Mik over at Slightly Mordant, my first thought was that my blog is powered by gas.

Thank you, Mik, for thinking of me. 

Would you like a bowl of chili?

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So this means it is now time to start making hot chocolate and dressing up in warm fuzzy bathrobes.

In case any of you need a recipe for hot chocolate, try this one:

In a car of your choice, drive to McDonalds and say “I’d like a large hot chocolate, please.”  Give them your money and drink the hot chocolate. Fight the urge to say something about how they should probably not wear nose rings while fixing your food.

If you go to the drive-up window, you can even wear the fuzzy bathrobe.
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I wonder what my restaurant would be called?  I’d like it to be something slightly bizarre, but not so freaky that people run screaming in horror.  For example, “The Salmonella Outbreak” might be a poor choice, as would “The Questionable Ingredient”.

Here’s a place that calls itself the “Bounty Hunter.”

It sounds like a good place; here’s a restaurant review of it.

I like the idea of delicious savory sandwiches.  And hey, we carnivorous folks are always ready for a good dose of pulled pork.  It’s juicy and delicious, plus it’s fun to say “pulled pork” over and over again.
Notice that the review also says they serve wild boar.

Perhaps my restaurant can involve hot and spicy versions of animals we wouldn’t usually eat.

Fiery Kangaroo Poppers!
Sizzling Zebra Fajitas!
Scorching Rattlesnake Nuggets!
Burning Ass!  (No, wait…)
Habanero Turtle Pockets!
Flaming Flamingo Wings!

The animal rights activists would be on my doorstep before the lunch hour was even finished.

Hopefully the complimentary basket of Red Hot Rhino Rolls will change their minds.
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I probably shouldn’t get a job as a restaurant critic.

“Oh, my, these pork chops are interesting.  They’re like burnt plastic, but I mean that in the complimentary sense.  And this breadstick is divinely reminiscent of sawdust!”

Anyway, yeah, the tea’s not bad.  Really.
I’ll probably buy it again, the next time I’m in the mood for grassy herby skunk juice.
With lemon.
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I MUST have peanut butter cookies.

Must.  Have.

Yet the only place open this late at night which would actually HAVE them is either Meijer or WalMart.

Both are about a 20-25 minute drive.

Sigh.

Hopefully if I can get some sleep, I’ll forget I’m craving them, right?
Or will I dream of luscious rich peanut buttery discs of joy, lovingly caressing each taste bud as they delight in reminding me of my favorite legume?

If I had the proper ingredients (which I never do), I could make my own.
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