Splinter from a Road House. Pork Cracklin's.

Splinter from a Road House. Pork Cracklin's. Mixed in a cauldron of piping hot full sugar coke. Poured into a boot. The Honky-Tonk Witch had finished making her Hill Billy Magic

Mooshine. Cackling through cracked teeth she leapt on her banjo and soared out over the bayou, chikinpicken all the way to DIrtwater Cemetery. Her congregation of crows, the Craxum

grocery list. "A loaf of bread, a gallon of milk, and a stick of butter." Reading the eerie portents of the raven's amassing in a cyclonic horror, she knew she had to shop.

She'd met this type from Craigslist before and somehow escaped, but as she went shopping for bread, milk and butter, her adrenaline subsided. Maybe this raven did like to bake. S

he pondered what mincemeat really was as she gathered the items on her list. The last time she'd baked, her date

was plesantly suprised at her culinary skills. He had thought a woman that beautiful couldn't possibly do well in the kitchen, and he had told her as much. Reaching for the sugar

he commented, "I've never slept with anyone who didn't like sweet chilli chicken. Tell me you do, Maria." Maria gulped her Rioja, spat on the candle and laughed. "What kind

of girl do you think I am? Of course I eat sweet chili chicken." Maria was clearly offended that I'd even mentioned it, so she left. I, now hungry & lonely, went to the kitchen

where the chili fed chicken clucked at me gratefully. Kiki was too sweet to make into Pollo Asado so I became vegan & she warmed my nights with her silky down & chilly temperament.