Road to deliciousness stricken with delectable potholes

It occurs to me that wracking one's brain to determine a good topic about which to write somewhat defeats the purpose of writing. It therefore occurs to me that anything worth ruminating on and subsequently recording should just occur to me, unanticipated and joyously surprising, like a suddenly impending bowel movement when you're pottering around the house on a Sunday. Exciting, you know. Unless you're patronizing at a music festival or something, in which case your unexpectedly riveting fecal life dribbles past your eyes as your bowel collapsing due to woefully inadequate facilities becomes an all too real possibility.

Regardless, it then occurred to me to write about that particular occurrence which occurred to me, which is this one. Moving on. While driving down the highway just now, any number of unrelated phrases and monologic fragments crossed my mind, none of which I would recall with any accuracy when I eventually sat down to do a spot of blogging (a word I detest incidentally. It has been adopted by the mainstream media as a buzzword and therefore become irrelevant. 'Blogosphere' can fuck right off to boot. If you can find David Koch inside the Blogosphere, you'll find me taking my chances eluding mutant aphids in the blackened, ashen landscape of the Un-Blogosphere. Doubt the existence of said aphids at your peril incidentally; they appear to be garden variety aphids at first glance but they'll be at your kidneys like aphids on a ripe, delicious kidney).

None of this necessarily establishes a direction for this instalment, but it does establish my apparent inability to write coherently on a topic of any substance. I'll go with it for now and review my progress a bit later.

Unsettling though it may seem, combining one fluid ounce of liquefied chocolate and a plate of English muffins is not cause for giddy celebration and a capful of giggling asps. Under the misapprehension that a tittering reptilian clique would indeed occupy hats if I were to facilitate this unlikely thing, I combined those lesser things with a preposterously high likelihood of success as I saw it. The chocolate melted luxuriously if that were possible, the muffins toasted themselves helpfully. I stood around existentially. Twenty minutes later I lamented my folly, and, like a Godless aphid engorged to bursting with delightful kidney meat, saw my mistake writ large in the hardening remains of the melted chocolate.

A failed success then; fear abated and stomach distended to no small degree of satisfaction and discomfort.