Cook the Kiss

I don't feel like writing anything. Also, I don't feel like translating into German right now. Maybe tomorrow. Deal with it.

My neighbours hooked me up with blastin' Japanese HipHop, which I enjoy. I never realized: HipHop is nice when you don't have to put up with detailed descriptions of how much money and bi-atches someone has at his/sometimes her disposal. It's got a soothing ring to it. Kinda like the chatting of ducks at the pond. Except they will not go upside yo head if you try and feed them breadcrumbs.
Here are pictures of people.
Andres joined us for some food.

I don't know what's wrong with Einan (far right). Gus (middle) is unaffected. Jetze (left) claimed to be demonstrating what gesture all asians make when you take their picture.

To test the hypothesis, I took a picture of Ming. Hypothesis discarded.

Fair Amy reads the blog.

Yours truly doesn't get out much these days. The outside world has yet to complain about that.


In other news, we ventured into "Trader Joe's", America's favourite organic marketplace. It's all the fun of buying at an untreated-wood-paneled WalMart while paying "this better be solid gold"-prices. How is nutrition related to Disneyland-styled food display booths?
I would have told them that to their receding-hairline-yet-ponytail-embellished faces, but I was afraid to get run over by a hybrid in the parking lot as retribution. TJ's customers look like a vindictive bunch.
Sell-outs like me will have to resort to next-door's "Trailor Joe's" foir their fix of microwaveable pizza and PBR.