I had a dream last night where I was required to take an Impractical Jokers Appreciation class for my major for some reason, and for some reason I decided to dress up like Sal from that show on the first day for kicks. And the professors comes in and says to me “You’re not dressed up like Sal, you’re dress up like Joe you idiot” then the whole class started laughing at me. But I was dressed up like Sal. After the laughter mellowed, he turned on this comically large out of date CRT TV and we started watching the Mortal Kombat movie. And like…3 minutes in the professor pulled out a razor scooter from his bag and started riding around the room. He started doing really subpar tricks with it like sloppy ollies and stuff. At some point, he drifted behind the tv really fast and unplugged the tv by slamming into the cord and ripping it out of the socket. He walked up to me with a shitload of rage in his eyes and asked me in a thundering voice “DID YOU SEE THAT FUCKING SHIT?!” I said yes then I woke up.
First rinse the rice, then add to a saucepan along with the lentils and cover with water. Bring to the boil and then simmer for 25 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat a non-tick frying pan and cook the onion until soft, then add the cumin, cinnamon and tomato purée. Cook for another minute before adding the tomatoes, chilli flakes, liquid smoke and Tabasco.
Finally, add the cooked lentils and brown rice to the pan and cook for a further couple of minutes. Season to taste :)
Notes: I wanted to use up some leftover rice and lentils that I’d made the day before but felt they were a little bland, so I spiced them up a bit and threw them in a wrap with some violife cheese and sour cream :) They were definitely easier to eat in the wrap than the next day in the burger (above).
Ok so I'm reading your theater fic about Jamilton and I'm a theater geek so here I go. Jefferson is the worst fucking person in the entire galaxy. He ROLLED up his script and then placed it in his BACK POCKET!!! If he were in my theater group we would have caught and slaughtered him just for that. And then he has the audacity, THE AUDACITY, to not write down his blocking??? Dear lord I bet he eats fuckin sloppy joes and uses the thing as a plate!!! Just needed to get that out.
lucas: well, i don’t want that for maya, i want maya to be happy
zay: hey, maya, looks like lucas is getting fired up on your behalf
maya: thank you, lucas, but it’s just an art class
lucas: i feel bad. they’re taking away something you’re very good at
maya: you’ve never said that to me before
lucas: i’ve said it
maya: yeah, but not like straight to my face, when you’re looking at me, i can’t remember you actually-
lucas: you’re a great artist, maya
zay: well, he’s looking at you now
lucas: you have a real talent, i want you to be able to get better and share it with people
zay: now you’re just looking at each other not saying nothing, are you saying anything? no, i wonder what they’re thinking
lucas: i don’t want them to take away your art class, maya
maya: *stares at lucas*
zay: lucas used to call me in texas and tell me about you guys, you were legends, the genius who’s loyal and kind, the blonde beauty-
maya: lucas talks about himself like that?
zay: he was talking about you
LET’S JUST TALK ABOUT HOW LUCAS WAS MORE AFFECTED ABOUT ART CLASS BEING TAKEN AWAY THAN MAYA BECAUSE HE KNOWS HOW IMPORTANT IT IS TO HER AND HE WANTS HER TO BE HAPPY AND HE KNOWS SHES GONNA GO FAR WITH HER TALENT SO HE DOES LITERALLY EVERYTHING TO KEEP ART CLASS FOR THE SAKE OF MAYAS HAPPINESS AND DID I MENTION HE TALKS TO ZAY ABOUT HER AND HOW SHES A BLONDE BEAUTY AND I AM SO ALIVE RIGHT NOw
She’s staring at me in this weird way. Like I’m crazy.
“What?” I say to break the silence, looking at the two
plates in between us on the table, “You don’t like any of this food?”
“No, it’s not that…” she mumbles, squinting at the food, “It’s
the amount of food. How do you expect me to eat all of this?”
I stare at the size of the sloppy joes in front of us, each
one accompanied by an unnecessary large portion of fries. “I guess you can take
away what you don’t eat.”
“How am I supposed to eat this?” she asks, a tinge of
disgust on her face as she loosely holds a knife and fork in her hands.
“Oh, you poor, pampered soul,” I tease her, smiling at her
sympathetically, “With your hands, Amelia.”
She looks at me with her bottom lip slightly jutted out
before dropping the utensils and grabbing the burger with both hands. I know
she’s only doing it just to prove to me she’s not spoilt but, as she lifts the
burger, chili spills everywhere on the table and her legs. It’s a good thing
she’s wearing shorts today, because the chili hits her thighs and her dog
immediately springs into action to save her.
“Riley, no,” she giggles, trying to push his snout away with
her knee while simultaneously wiping up the chili with a napkin, “This is my
food, you had yours already.” I watch with a goofy grin as Riley becomes vocal,
like most huskies, and moans in protest at Amelia’s instructions.
“No,” she says, firmer this time, “Sit.” The puppy obeys and
stares at her stressfully yet obediently. She picks up her knife and fork once
more. “I’m gonna try this my way.”
I shake my head and smile. “You’re so stubborn.” She cuts a
perfect slice of the burger and puts it in her mouth as she stares at me. Truthfully,
I’m impressed, but I can’t let her know that because she’s too cocky, so I pay
attention to my food and silence reigns once more as we eat.
“So,” she says once she swallows, “Pit bulls or Rottweilers?”
I look at her and quirk my eyebrow. “Pit bulls by far. Why?”
“I’m making conversation, duh,” she answers, rolling her
eyes, “And seeing as you haven’t told me about your job as yet, I’m assuming
you don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t,” I confirm, glad she’s picked up on that.
“Neither do I,” she agrees, cutting out another slice of her
burger, “Most men don’t want to hear that I make four to five times more than
them a month.”
“Well now I’m curious about what kind of job you have,” I
say, intrigued, “Are you a lawyer?”
“No,” she says, “Red Sox or Yankees?”
“Red Sox,” I answer, “Fashion designer?”
“Red Sox?” she says, scrounging her face in disgust, “And do
I look like a fashion designer?”
“What’s wrong with the Sox?” I grumble, “Are you a
“Everything is wrong with the…” She pauses her chewing. “Wait,
did you just ask if I was a prostitute?”
I shrug my shoulders and smile, knowing the statement will
get under her skin. Oddly enough, it doesn’t.
“I’m not a prostitute,” she laughs, “Now stop guessing my
profession before I start guessing yours.”
“Fair enough,” I say, my chili hands raised in the air in
defeat. For the rest of the meal, we keep relatively light conversation,
speaking about generic things like favourite colours and favourite drinks,
boring stuff like that except it doesn’t sound boring coming out of her mouth.
She can make anything sound interesting, to be honest. She insists on paying
once we’ve finished our meal, saying that I’ll just pay for our drinks if we
ever go out.
When I notice that she’s taking awfully long with the bill, I
turn around to see what the holdup is and see her chatting with one of the
chefs. He hands her a napkin to wipe the chili she’s missed and then he points
at her dog before saying something I can’t hear. They’re smiling and laughing
and he hands her a small piece of paper. I’m not jealous, trust me. I’m
actually amused, because she’s doing the same thing she did to the vet
receptionist. She’s smiling wide so he can see her dimples and she keeps
adjusting her shorts, pulling his attention to them. Although I can’t see them,
I know her blue eyes are sparkling with femininity, trapping him under her
spell. He’s a man, of course he falls
for it; I would’ve fallen for it if I’d liked her. I quickly turn around when I
see her walking back to the table.
“Jealous?” she says the second she sits back down.
I look up at her with a confused expression and point my
index finger at myself. “Who, me? No.” She doesn’t seem convinced, so I add, “I
was simply observing that you did to him what you did to the receptionist.”
“Are you insinuating that I seduced the chef?” she asks,
feigning feelings of hurt at my accusation.
“That’s exactly what you did,” I say, “And he gave you his number, instead of the other way
around. I’m impressed.”
“He has a husky that he wants to line with Riley,” she says,
standing up and gathering her stuff, “I’m not going to leave you for him if
that’s what has your knickers all twisted.”
“I was actually hoping you’d leave me.” I get up and Sato
follows suit. “And my knickers are perfectly breezy.”
“Perfectly breezy because they’re not twisted or because you
have a small penis?” she queries, leading the way out of the restaurant. The
mouth on this woman.
which joe? the young cute red haired one? i haven’t followed his political career super closely but props to him for slamming that sloppy backseat blowjob of a replacement bill. young reps like him need to keep interested and carry the torch.