ed winter

A fresh, steaming pile of meat, raw with blood and honey and spices, crackled among the burning, hissing sap of logs, bros. Toss that shit up with some tongs, or other fiercer material than fire, like steel, but for a limited time or only so much, temperature is not so analog but digital, friends.

Listen. There is an explicit temperature in which one state of matter solidly changes to another, it happens at a specific temperature dependent on the material.

Science? Fuck you. This is technology, imparted from the ages, echoes in the cosmos that speak with truth. You see two sticks, I see two sticks, we agree on the truth, let’s move on.

This ain’t no shit for no fucken pansyboy truth seeking is it real type bullshit. We have fathomed the deeps, we have cut our teeth on a rock of real, boy. You got problems with this, you best move on, get in that line, find yourself some truth and bring it back and we will trade.

I offer you three magic beans for your truth and what it brings, my lad. Why don’t you runneth off now, and play, thee?

p.s. years later this kid came back and we traded our beans and what was given to me by the lad. he later went on to fell a giant and also capture a golden goose as some other, more possibly fancier tales go. check your local thesaurus, I’m out.