The Taste of Christmas Present

Love is an offering of leftover homemade pâté, made with his own hands and Cuisinart, and snatched from the possible consumption by member of his family - who admittedly had little interest in the item which is, perhaps and annually, made as much for the pleasure of the process as anything else and we do know, of course, that any sadist worth his whip maintains a keen interest in the process as well as in his own eventual hedonistic pleasure -  said thick slice of ground and spiced and molded meats to be presented to his mistress for his pleasure in her pleasure.

She moaned.

And dispelled with any concern about indecipherable run-on sentences.

No planes fell on my head

Yes.
I know I've been quiet again.
It's that dark season...

But don't worry.
I'm not dead.

The plane that crashed in Montgomery County, which is indeed my county, went down at the other end of said county and not on my little brick box of a house. We're all safe and in one piece. In fact, I'm out of town, visiting my aged dad up in Boston, and only learned of the crash through a Facebook post from a friend who lives closer to the site.

We return now to our regularly scheduled silence.