Today we have a guest post from the Taste Trollip.
Oh my God. I was so happy, elated and excited to finally get to bag Chef. The greatest culinary talent on the block of similar over priced hipster Haute' haunts.
I was building to a crescendo of lust. Anticipating the finely toned arms from cutting veggies all day. The rock hard abs, and solid legs from standing all day. Sometimes things are not what they seem OMG.
He lived in a sleeping room. With a common bath in the hallway of the rooming house. Freaks running amok in the halls. His room, littered with empty Steel Reserve and Earthquake Malt Liquor cans. Syringes all about. Cigarette butts in mounds. A pizza box that I believe he had done a dookie in OMG.
His body not what I wanted. Skinny fat, dried reptille skin that flaked scabs, boils, pus all about. For only being 28 he was like 98. And then the sex. Awful. OMG. He could not perform. Until he finally melted down a little blue pill in a spoon. Then he was done in 60 seconds.
The next morning , I asked if he would cook me breakfast on his hot plate. He screamed that he is Chef, not a lowly line cook or Marmiton. His job is not to cook but to run the kitchen. He then put a pack of pop tarts in a toaster oven. I balked and next thing I know woke up with a broken toaster next to my bleeding , hurting head. In his nasty room alone. I will never eat out again, and have changed my ways.
No comments:
Post a Comment