Mini Vichy.
When Truman advocated the Marshall Plan to recover war-torn Europe, he wasn't thinking for himself. He was strategical for the benefit of others.
When I came home, I was thinking about him. All I can do when right now is take out the coffee beans out of the freezer and grind it up for later use. I was irritated. Grinding coffee while listening to classic rock seemed to go hand in hand. Then I thought, "what if I put these beaners in my cupcakes?" So I did. They're baking right now, actually, out of scratch. But they're not for me. I guess I wanted to be like Harry Truman, strategize for a bit, create a little wonder, to benefit others in some way. Cupcakes make people feel fucking fantastic, Harry!
Hell to the no would I ever measure up to the good ol' Harry. You see, Harry had an ambition that most people his age couldn't even imagine. He made buck passing an art. "The buck stops here", you see, is a term many of us wouldn't even understand. There's a certain caliber that comes along with that phrase. I don't understand it, I'm one of those underlings, you see. At least I
admit it. Harry Truman, give yourself a fuckin' round of applause up there, and stop slingin' your halo like you've got something to brag about; ya know its true.
Mocha cupcakes, anyone?
They're moistened by E.V.O.O. (a stupid abbreviation coined by Rachael Ray, which means 'extra virgin olive oil.'...oh, how virgin is that?)
They're fluffed by beaten eggs. (My idea of a perverted egg.Tehe).
They're pampered by condensed milk.
Showered with sugars of different entities, and has a kiss of spice.
and last but not least, spilled with freshly ground-up French coffee beans.
No Harry, its French roast, not Vichy French...don't worry, I wouldn't give ya another red scare. So excuse me, my time sequence is all out of order, but at least I know how to bake.
When I came home, I was thinking about him. All I can do when right now is take out the coffee beans out of the freezer and grind it up for later use. I was irritated. Grinding coffee while listening to classic rock seemed to go hand in hand. Then I thought, "what if I put these beaners in my cupcakes?" So I did. They're baking right now, actually, out of scratch. But they're not for me. I guess I wanted to be like Harry Truman, strategize for a bit, create a little wonder, to benefit others in some way. Cupcakes make people feel fucking fantastic, Harry!
Hell to the no would I ever measure up to the good ol' Harry. You see, Harry had an ambition that most people his age couldn't even imagine. He made buck passing an art. "The buck stops here", you see, is a term many of us wouldn't even understand. There's a certain caliber that comes along with that phrase. I don't understand it, I'm one of those underlings, you see. At least I
admit it. Harry Truman, give yourself a fuckin' round of applause up there, and stop slingin' your halo like you've got something to brag about; ya know its true.
Mocha cupcakes, anyone?
They're moistened by E.V.O.O. (a stupid abbreviation coined by Rachael Ray, which means 'extra virgin olive oil.'...oh, how virgin is that?)
They're fluffed by beaten eggs. (My idea of a perverted egg.Tehe).
They're pampered by condensed milk.
Showered with sugars of different entities, and has a kiss of spice.
and last but not least, spilled with freshly ground-up French coffee beans.
No Harry, its French roast, not Vichy French...don't worry, I wouldn't give ya another red scare. So excuse me, my time sequence is all out of order, but at least I know how to bake.