Recipe For Disaster

Here's a long-form recipe:

With no planning of any kind and after checking to be sure no ingredients are bleeding from anywhere, fire all other chefs. Never begin without finding out what's going on.

Start with simple tea and heat over a raging, uncontrolled fire. Add a full cup of the biggest oil you can acquire or in a pinch you can use a sticky Sachs or other approved Top 500 syrup. 

Combine one part Joe McCarthy, two parts Il Duce and add a heaping scoop of Randall Flagg. Mix in a little unshaved Bannon, raw Fox or a touch of weak Guliani to taste. 

Sprinkle conservatively with a dash of Kampf (Mein lends an extra strong flavor). 

You've now reached the Fundamental stage of preparation but don't sign the order quite yet! You'll never be a veteran at this if you dodge the difficult preparations.

A great deal of discrimination is definitely needed to prosecute the next steps so assure that you do not tax yourself at this point as much remains to be overdone. This is not the time to be gay or thinking about aborting the process.

Without hesitation, pay the expenses to beat the mixture thoroughly in poorly drained swamp water and Rush to bring to full boil in a vintage klavern. 

After no cooling whatsoever, siphon off all the unused floating experience and discard. Inflame everything else except the base until golden bronze. Continue to simmer over a smokey coal fire if possible; then water board off any unneeded Moorish froth. 

This will result in a semi-bitter Goebbels souffle that should never be moderated with Nafta seasoning of any kind. Be sure to never use any black, yellow or brown ingredients or imports as a substitute for the very biggest and best of everything.

Comb-over the Putin topping and pour into straight, white molds. Don't forget to alternate perceptions while the jell thickens. Once cold, pop into a cabinet until two and a half minutes to midnight.

Continue to not plan for the evening. There should be no parenthood present at the event, especially any with gold stars in their eyes. Atmosphere means a great deal in these matters and you cannot allow anyone to see...oh...two or more questions about the menu.

Finally you're ready for the biggest event in history! Before seating, tweet the size of your hotel then vet all guests extremely and serve with long knives while wearing a brown shirt. 

Goes best with an aged Iscariot or Quisling in fine Kristallnacht glassware...preferably in a wall booth with green carded tablecloth. 

Remember, climate is everything so use a steadily rising room temperature. Be sure to grab any passing dishes while presenting and approach settings only from the right. 

Serve to millions whether they like it or not.

After a dinner best served cold, offer refuge to guests with similar tastes. Stalin diners from deporting early with an absolutely delusional dessert of Skittles and a TicTac.

As a final gesture, be generous with any leftover cake to the waiting staff. You can't insure everyone will get some but they should be grateful anyway.

Bon appétit

'17 And Counting

I believe it's time for an update. It's the time of year when it's supposed to be snowy and cold but mostly it's just been mud with snow frosting. I'm happy for it though because it keeps my firewood and fuel oil bills a tad lower. Silver lining under the slush I guess.

So where's Home now? Well, I made it through the holidays yet again so I guess that's a win. See posts below for my opinion on that annual catastrophe.

Home is a big empty place for the time being but in the last month many, many lines have been blurred and crossed that I wouldn't have believed possible. From wearing a dress and stockings to venturing out into the world again...times they are a-changing. There are still dark days but the sun peeks out too and I even smile on occasion. I know...who'd have thought?

There are so many stories to tell from all that's happened that I don't really know where to begin. I've met some new friends along the way and lost a few as well. I still have some loose ends to tie up and none of them will be easy. There's things that need to be said and maybe bridges to be burned but at least some of the bleakness has faded. Through it all, the days and weeks run together and suddenly months have gone and I wonder where I put them. It's like running down the road on a bike with no brakes. The trick is to stay on top and never miss a curve.

Tales to tell here someday...but since I'm pretty much writing this for myself, I suppose it doesn't matter that much when I get around to tapping them out. The stories are alive behind the receding hairline and maybe they're safer stashed there. Spring will come eventually and ride reports will follow...those are pretty easy and sometimes make a good smokescreen for what's really going on. I know how I work...

One of these strange days, I'm going to read back through the Wayward Home and see how much I've wandered over the years since I started the thing. Who knows...maybe I'll find something...maybe I'll wonder what the hell was going on...maybe not.

Stay tuned...