yer mum called me a dick

I'll arm wrestle your mom whilst drinking tea and eating crumpets, discussing metaphysics, outlining my next scientifical experiment. Bounty Bitch, thats what they call me (nobody calls me that). Nerves of steel (!), if by steel you mean pasta-esque: when in boiling water, turning very limp, eventually disintegrating into a heap of carbohydrates most likely cancer causing. Also sticky. Very sticky.
I totally go good with red or white sauce though (EOE). Try me with garlic bread or those melty mozzarella sticks you can only have someone else prepare for you in a restaurant setting because the ones you bake at home explode in the oven leaving you with a hollow breaded shell and wilted sense of self for not being able to heat up tiny amounts of frozen food properly on your own.
Aw. Sad.

Every time I see a cockroach I have to call for back up. I scream, actually, like a little bitch. I ain't proud. I don't give a fuck. If you are a guest in my house and there is a cockroach, YOU are killing it. FYI.
Or, we are leaving together to hang out in a hotel room until someone else eradicates that pest and bleaches the furniture and walls. Get outside, creature of the night, you disgust me worse than George W. Bush, who is the origin of all wrong and badness and probably everything too sour or gritty. Who also probably, some how, some where, created a new strain of cockroach through an environmental fuck up on account of new policy created during his administrations reign to protect Hummer and Truck Nuts owners. I swear to heavens its like The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, except GWB. And full of suck.
Blame Bush. It's my mantra, you know (you know). Toast burned? W's fault. Roof fall in? W's struck again. Herpes? That damn W.

The Best Fettuccine Recipe on the Planet.
Except as leftovers. For some reason, reheating makes it Jeff Goldblum. More weird yellow butter substance than you will have logical explanation for and cheese that will not ever come off the plate, no matter how many times you scrub it with a Brillo Pad.
Ok, seriously though. Revised:
The Most Beloved Fettuccine Recipe on the Planet That Makes Whoever I Cook It For Go Bonkers Like A Deranged Feline On Catnip No Matter What Mystery Molecular Breakdown Occurs To It Once Putting It In A Refrigerator Overnight.
(I wish the FDA or food manufacturers would allow me to work in their marketing departments)

16oz. Regular Box o' Fettuccine Noodles. Cooked.
Stick of Butter (no margarine, fools). Melted.
1/2 Cup of Heavy (but he's my brother) Cream. Warmed.
1 Container of Kraft Parmesan Cheese (no generic shit, kids, trust me, you'll puke your guts out).
Mix Noodles with wet ingredients, toss in cheese, mix mix mix.

Awesome Alternative that includes Vegetables:
Use a box of tri-colored rotini pasta (12oz.), add a cooked bag of frozen California Mix vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, carrots), add another 1/2 stick of butter, increase heavy cream to full cup, throw in another 1/2 a container of Parmesan cheese and and additional 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar. Mix. Die happy and very full.

A creamy delight for the most discriminating palettes!!!
Seriously. Even your mom with her broken arm will eat it up.

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