Note to self

For Mother’s Day, I bought some very fresh halibut just flown in from wherever one finds fresh halibut. I live in the desert so I paid roughly the same price as one would expect to pay for an hour with a high end hooker in NYC on a holiday weekend. I grilled it on my George Foreman grill – the big one on the patio that plugs in and that is awesome. It was a thing of beauty. Angels wept at the delicate taste. My guests showered me with praise. I drank three glasses of champagne because I deserved a reward for my mad skills. This may be why I forgot to then clean the grill. I came home today, a week later, and went to the grill to throw some steaks on for dinner. I opened the lid. The stench lifted like a greenish cloud of horror with a side of skank sauce. It smelled like a week-old dead hobo in the toilet on a tuna boat. Holy baby jeebus fucknuts! Note to self: wash the damn grill next time. Like, immediately.

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