Since it's the super bowl weekend I need to rush out this afternoon and purchase the ingredients for my World Famous Stephens' Irish Kickass Salsa. (Trademarked) It's traditional. I could care less about the football game. The commercials are often funny, sometimes even entertaining. The game for me is just an excuse to make myself sick with chips and salsa.
Prep time is approximately an hour. I only use fresh vegetables with a base of canned tomatoes. The salsa must be allowed to stand overnight in the coolness of the refrigerator. When one dips a chip (I prefer Nacho Cheese.) and it stands without waver the salsa is ready to eat. Children, lipstick women, gays, liberals, the elderly sick, and metrosexuals need not apply. My salsa will kill 'em dead right there....
I'm very aware there has been an oversight to respond to a few comments for those post I've written in the past. I will make every effort to correct this lack of my attention to detail. A few months back my mind took a deep dive into a black hole of depression. During this period I set aside all things internet related except for the mundane and that related to my actual business.
While searching my bookshelves last evening I came across my copy of Angela's Ashes, a first edition, and decided to give it a second read. Two hours into the book I grew a hunger...needed food. The book will do it to you, their hunger triggers a need to feed. If you don't believe me, read the book.
Remember Tommy? He came in this morning to remind me he'd be back next Monday for his firearms. While we chatted he noticed an old eastern European military rucksack I've had on a hook on my back door for months. I've a gross of 'em. Use them for packing light articles, junk, stuff, handguns, tools, to the shop. He wants it. Asked if it had a price and I said, just take it. He refused.
Cup of coffee later he turns to me and said, "Hey, Stephen, listen here. 'Member those old pocket knives I mentioned last time I was here?"
"Listen, what if I swap 'ya for them there old pocket knives. I must have a box full in storage."
I told him fine, we'd trade my old rucksack for his pocket knives.