My equilibrium is fucked.

So. I survived cancer.









Yeah. I know. I'm fucking amazing. Even now I can hear the crowds jumping for joy as I wandered out into the lobby, fists pumping and throat yelling. I cherished the faces of those who tearfully squealed with happiness, celebrating my triumphant return to normal life. None of this happened, but if it did, something along these lines would occur. With all this being said, welcome friends, family and all those who unfortunately stumble upon this treacherous blight I call a blog. This is a newly found chapter in my already overly interesting life filled with bitches and money. Excluding the money. And bitches. Dear readers, be prepared for a better me, a golden age where my dreams are reality, my imagination - the very oyster of your meddlesome minds. I will become what is thought unbecoming. Making no sense whatsoever, here in this blog. My will, be done.

Okay the god talk should probably be delayed a bit, I'm running out of ideas for my next entry. I was going through a ton of emotions during the past few weeks. Sadness, sexual anxiety, and corn. When I was feeling corn, yes corn is now an emotion - I was given the right to create it due to my cancer survival, as the great mayor of Mindsville told me so.When I was feeling corn, I couldn't move forward. I felt broken. Torn, if you will. ( Didn't get the similarities, don't finish reading because my mind is fubar as of late). My body wished itself many harms, breaking the boundaries of sane and Dolly Parton insane. I would love to feel her bare breasts. I am a man. Molding myself into a great chef who will take many underlings and transform them into great chefs. Going through crazy mixed housewife emotions, was slowly making me realize how far this dream may be. Would I be able to accomplish such a feat in this life? Or will I be hindered, slouching back as I watch the Food Network as Chuck Hughes makes his super cool grilled cheese with truffle ketchup and pickled horse dick.

I will. I know my limits. I know my potential. As someone who was classically trained, partially mind you, I feel that my body was made to cook. I can see the potential in others, and know when I'm doing the right thing. Cockiness it might be, but I assure you that I'm following the right path. It's painfully arduous, and shows no mercy to my social life, but in the end I know I'll reach my desired outcome. There will be tits, oh yes, there will be many. Chicken tits, duck tits, pheasant tits. All of them, sous vide, and ready for your mouths. I can mentally prepare myself for this journey we will all take together. Or I can drink my ass off and listen to ball crushing metal as my life passes me by.  Both sound amazingly redundant and boring. But I'll attempt another shot at what was graciously given to me. This beautiful new outlook on life, filled with limitless potential, to become greater than I have ever imagined.

I'm going to become a super hero. I will save this world from culinary disaster, shedding light on the unfaithful. Bring joy to the well done crowds, and show them the ways of medium rare. Sooth the ultra cooked fish, and bring forth sushi grade tuna. Breath life into the heartless abominations who consider pork a dirty animal and refuse to eat it yet eat something like farmed salmon, which generally feeds on chicken poo. If you don't enjoy pork, you're most likely a monster. Also, pig roast on my birthday. Evil doers out there, with their dull knives and overpriced educations, you shall beware, for the chef will strike you down, in the heat of the kitchen!

And there goes any chance of me getting laid for the next few years. Please, single, pretty and somewhat talented women who joyfully read my blog, disregard that last paragraph. Return to your pants folding positions and resume your day. I will shed light of this entire situation some day, over a nice hot cup of shark consomme. Please, forward all of your inquiries to jpmallah@hotmail.com, and any date offers you would like to bestow upon me. If you'd like to reach me by cell phone, kindly escort yourself to my foot. Bitches and hoes, I'm out. It's been fun, but let's get the real games started. Phase 2 of this guy's life just started, and you're all more than welcome to join in. Just remember, I don't wear condoms.