“My Secret Fat Tomato”

There’s a secret fat

tomato teasing me now:

Fried green, BLT?*

 

*(In the garden, recently moved to a more secure spot away from the casual shopper – I know it’s not a squirrel, because it’s sister/brother big boy with broad shoulders disappeared from the towering vine’s streetside former perch without the telltale quarter-eaten evidence a treerat would leave – so the second of three fat almost ripe fully ‘maters sits low surrounded by sharp, thorny and razor-leaved pineapple potted plants as I quivveringly ponder its fate: right now just green enough for a bath in buttermilk followed by a toweling-off with highly-seasoned cornmeal and flour for a quick fry – Fried Green Tomatoes are not rock-hard green but pinkish with green-hued tinges – or – Oh, My Gosh, I can feel the saliva o’er-tipping my feeble and pleading lips – a Bacon Lettuce And Tomato sammich.  Home made bread slathered with butter on BOTH sides – keep yer mayonnaise! – last of the sturdy romaine lettuce and a one-slice covers the bread thick tomato slice, Kosher salt-n-freshground peppered on both sides, with thick nearly crunchy but with enough yield and glistening fat remaining bacon hiding the refugee ‘mater.  Milk? Beer? Unsweet Tea?  Got enough slices in that gorgeous hunk-o’-red to have all three! Cancel Armageddon: I’m busy!)

“A Florida Question…Gone To Pot”

Two years to write rules

for ‘de-cannibed’ pot for ‘scripts:’

how long for real sh*t?

 

*(originally typed “stuff” but thought the old “stoner” lingo more apropos. Florida’s Medical Marijuana law, passed at least last year if not before – forgive, por favor, I five-got my calendar – will put pill-, liquid-, or ungent-forms of decannibanoid (sp?) types of MaryJane (won’t getcha high) in front of consumers, like, yesterday if you believe the wags and, like, day after judgement if you are a practicing cynic.  The fight over where, how many and how taxed waged before, during and after the political crap with regard to not just who gets to grow the stuff, how processed to take the good out and leave the meds in, and where it will be sold have gummed up the works to the point that nothing significant has changed.  Dispensaries still have not opened a door, kids with certain forms of seizures still have not had those maladies abated. You know the drill.  Is this all a ploy to get to the real design by the Pot Fer Ewe crowd?  You betcha!  The ill, infirm or just the sick-lame-lazy crowd still hoping to get an oregano-high are pawns, were pawns and always will be pawns when it comes to the commercial feel-good types with corporate backing and possibly dis-corporate (forgive me, Michael Valentine Smith) “fronting.” I has said ’nuff!)