chocolate chip pizza


Spoon University on Instagram

Brownies with or without nuts, frosting or chocolate chips? Is salad pizza really a pizza? Opinions on white chocolate? Hot cocoa with or without marshmallows?
Personally depending on the day I love any combination of stuff on brownies(not cream cheese). Salad pizza is an unholy abomination. So is white chocolate, ick. Hot cocoa without marshmallows but with cinnamon and cayenne(just a teeny bit, it’s so good)

i was tagged by the wonderful @evanngeline thanks el!!

things i’m currently in love with:

one song: eraser-ed sheeran

two movies: beauty & the beast and rogue one

three tv shows: skam, sense8, suits

four characters: ryke meadows, monica geller (always <33), nikolai lantsov, rose calloway

five foods: pizza, chocolate chip cookie, bánh xèo, lắc nui, bacon cheddar potatoes wedges 

tagging @kingsdamianos, @lilycolloway, @lukemitchells, @janierose, @jaceherondcle, @caradocdearborn, @ohbrekker + anyone else who wants to do this!


Emil knew what day it was. Even before Andre had called him to read off today’s calendar events, the vampire had remembered. Two years with Sawyer, and this was the third time he’d been there for the anniversary of the witch’s parents’ death. The first year the boy hadn’t really let his sadness out, but the next was a whole different story. Sawyer was comfortable enough to show his boss and lover his emotions, and Emil appreciated that. He knew how hard it could be to be vulnerable like that.

And so, this year, he’d made sure to keep his obligations light. He would give the boy some time to be alone and process, and then he would go home and take care of him. It seemed to work well enough the year before, but then again they weren’t living together the year before. He ordered him a chocolate chip pizza while he was out, and finally pulled into the driveway after dinner time.

He was silent as he stepped inside and shed his jacket and shoes, listening around for signs of the boy he cared deeply for. The boy he’d allowed to move into his home. He could smell the lingering scent of the dinner that Luna had come over to cook… steaks, potatoes, and asparagus. Of course. The witch had asked for the same thing both previous years, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. The vampire found his kept boy in the entertainment room, smoking from the bong and frowning in a way that tugged at Emil’s heartstrings. “Hey, baby boy,” he breathed as he made his way into the room, gently taking the bong from his lover and sitting it down on the coffee table before he sat down on the couch with him, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his head. He pulled the smaller man into his chest, wrapping a protective arm around him. 


There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
‘Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas – which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn’t quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn’t remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
babafats.jpg (27048 bytes)

Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
“But hell,” says Roy, “I’m a healthy boy, and I’ll crawl or climb or fly,
But I’ll find that guru who’ll give me the clue as to what’s the perfect high.”
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits – and cries – and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He’s grinding his teeth, he’s coughing blood, he’s aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes – sits the godlike Baba Fats.

“What’s happening, Fats?” says Roy with joy, “I’ve come to state my biz.
I hear you’re hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see,” says Roy to he, “that I’m about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?”
“Well, dog my cats!” says Baba Fats. “here’s one more burnt-out soul,
Who’s looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won’t find it in no dealer’s stash, or on no druggist’s shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high – find it in yourself.”

“Why, you jive motherfucker!” screamed Gimmesome Roy, “I’ve climbed through rain and sleet,
I’ve lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I’ve braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot’s kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears 'fore they froze off,” says Roy, “had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn’t climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn’t crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I’ll kill your guru ass!”

“Ok, OK,” says Baba Fats, “you’re forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that’s known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil’s garden blooms the mystic Tzu-Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu-Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don’t ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers-by.
And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There’s a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu-Tzu tree.”
“To hell with your witches and giants,” laughs Roy. “To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu-Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me.”
And with tears of joy in his snow-blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.

“Well, that is that,” says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
“It seems, Lord”, says Fats, “it’s always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth,
It’s always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth.”

—  Shel Silverstein’s “The Perfect High” 
The Signs As Food
  • Aries: maple syrup
  • Taurus: shamrock shakes
  • Gemini: that bread that they serve as an appetizer at really nice italian restaurants
  • Cancer: little expensive chocolates wrapped in foil
  • Leo: ice cream sandwiches
  • Virgo: the chips all crushed up at the bottom of the bag that you pour into your mouth after you've finished the rest
  • Libra: chocolate chip cookie pizza cut into slices
  • Scorpio: cheeseburger from a diner on the side of the road
  • Sagittarius: stuffed crust pizza with chicken on it
  • Capricorn: chocolate covered mint oreos
  • Aquarius: cheez-its with letters imprinted on them
  • Pisces: broccoli