Saturday, December 24, 2011

Death by Breakfast

Yesterday we began to methodically attack the chicharon (deep fried pork yum yum) that Mama apparently bought in bulk. After months of healthy living in Boston, I sat down after breakfast and felt my blood pressure go up and up and up. All I needed to complete the experience was some whiskey and tobacco, and then perhaps a shovel and a coffin.

This Christmas Eve morning, Mama prepped a salad and a vegetable-heavy dish (sinigang) to counteract the oily fatty heart attack that is our main meal. It was glorious. According to my math, I will live another 10 years if the pork doesn't kill me first.

That sound you're hearing isn't the sound of Christmas bells -- it's my arteries going CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Merry Christmas! HO HO HO!!!

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