I Can't be Bothered To Write because I'm Hungry

My belly roars.

I am waiting for my tuna steak.

Just thinking about it with salad, squirting salad cream on top. 

I am buying time realy.

How I do like to procrastinate!

Oh well,  I will just let my train of thought spew across this page, like an endless trail of spaghetti. My brain has turned mushy, because I have been working it into overdrive over no other reason as to slap the remaining bloody brain cells on top of my train of thought. My brain cells look like tomato sauce. In fact the combination almost looks like a very familiar evening meal! I will have the balls to ask my parent's when my dinner will be ready. I shall use these balls, so manly and they are made of  one hundred percent meat. Place them carefully on top of my very own home-made meal and sprinkle some salt on for extra creativity. Voila! Trail of thought spaghetti with manly meatballs....

I must request this to a chef or local pub sometime, perhaps even give him/her the recipe. As long he or she is not too offended by than manly meatballs!

The End

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