by now, you must have realized that I'm a goofy bastard.  I've been this way most of my life.  I doubt that I'm going to change anything other than my clothes, so either get used to it or go away. Maybe you remember a few weeks ago I posted on the FB thingy something like:  took sloppy gloppy to a new level today.

What the hell is sloppy gloppy!  No one asked on the FB page what it was or what I meant.  Perhaps they were afraid.

Dad would occasionally cook it when Mom was not home.  It usually consisted of a pound of hamburger and some other stuff, it was usually reddish coloured, and it tasted pretty good.

My version:  take leftovers from fridge, dump into a pot.  Apply heat and cans of stuff to make palatable.  I don't remember what it was that I put together that day, but this is what I had for lunch today.

Oh, hell, who am I kidding.  I don't remember what was in there, either.

The base might have been white rice, can o'corn, can o'pinto beans, can'o'manwich, can o'diced tomatoes and chilies.  Next day I added some................thing that was protein.  and maybe a spoonful of peanut butter.  Or maybe it was sour cream.  What's the difference!

The next day I added left over macNcheese.  The next day I cooked some "pork cutlets" and added them to it.  That might have been the end of that batch.  weird, huh?  Good for getting rid of left overs...because I could have added fried rice or some shrimp or scallops, or fish, or hamburger helper or a OH YEAH!

I remember what I added that first next day.  I cooked a pound of "mechanically separated chicken a/k/a pink chicken slime.  It was good, and only $2/lb.

You can put anything in sloppy gloppy that is fit to eat.  Of course that means that these items will never come into contact with batch of SG:

• beets
• cabbage
• Brussels sprouts
• green beans
• hominy

I'm sure there are more items that are not fit to eat, in my opinion, of course, because it is my blog and I'm the only one sharing an opinion.  And you!  You are willing to sit there and absorb it.  What is your problem, anyway, do you need a therapist?  The dumbass I rented space from for 3 years liked to take that word apart, called me  massage the rapist.  I said he was a dumbass...and shortly after I left there, he went out of business.  HAHA dumbass.

Of course, most people that I call dumbass are not dumb at all, figure out for yourself if he was or not.

Stay tuned for a bloggy post about me hugging a tree.