Horseshit

Cookie day at work went splendidly well after I fixed things. I go to the table and only a dozen of the sugar cookies are gone. I'm thinking to myself "Paul you made Faustus' cookies and they are wonderful yet no one has really eaten them. Damn them all." Aside from there being too many cookies I figured that maybe people just didn't notice them. In return I took the cookie container and marched around to everyone telling my sob story about the original "dud" cookies. Then I informed them "This receipe is from Faustus who lives in New York. This receipe came all the way from New York and you haven't tried the cookies? Here are two." Needless to say my co-workers loved the cookies and a few asked for the receipe. See you evil bastards you didn't take the cookies therefore, you get no receipe.

Never if you ever run across the Rosie O'donnell bar thing make it. It is too sweet. Now I understand why my beloved Rosie is the size of a mack-truck. It almost favors a ring-ding/devil dog/Dairy Queen brownie earthquake. Too much.

I've delcared that having the inner diva that I have that the new me is "Glamour Princess." The kit contains a tiara, silver bag, and a Petal mirror as a microphone, and The Go-Go's. When you throw all the ingredients together you pretty much get me lipsyncing to The Go-Go's wearing a tiara and holding a pretend microphone and handbag. At work I might add.

Well Cheryl is on her way over and I have to start dinner. I'm thinking baked chicken with a lemon zest and parsilled(<---I'm sure this is spelled wrong) potatoes. Anyway, thanks again for the receipe Faustus...you saved the day with your Receipe Super Powers. And everyone have a goodnight.