Savage Chef, Career Counselor

Well, aside from creating an involuntary flambe of some perfectly innocent burrito meat, it's been pretty quiet in the Savage Chef kitchen. Though I must say, it is truly astounding how high flames can leap (towering inferno, indeed!) when one pours a cup of cheap red wine into a greasy, smoky pan of meat. As the flames leapt upward, I experienced a brief flashback to the flaming tortilla incident of '91, but alas. This time, there were no handsome firemen rescuing this foolish damsel. No, an older and wiser Savage huffed and she puffed and she blew that naughty fire right out. (Don't try this at home, kids. The Savage Chef is a professional (fuckup). And she can console herself with the knowledge that unlike a certain old friend of hers, the fire department does not have her on speed dial, just to check up.

On to cheerier things:

No one can say that I am not a devoted wife. Grumpy has reached a time in his life when he is ready for a change. * Accordingly, I have been keeping my eyes peeled for any likely career opportunities. Soldier of Fortune magazine has some intriguing advertisements, but I don't think mercenary killers can get accompanied tours, so that's out. I'd miss the old man too much, you see. Hmm.... What else is he good at? No. I'm too jealous. I'd cut da bitch. Let's see...what would be the perfect job for a Grumpy who wants to gear down a bit, but still rake in the bucks?

I pondered away, and suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, like a slip in a puddle of--anyway... Whilst skimming the fine literature available at the grocery checkout stand, I discovered a certain young lady who is in dire need of a designated driver. Now, I am not tooting my significant other's horn too hard when I say that he is one hell of a driver. He loves it. Hell, he even drove a big rig for a while, and they made him an instructor. So, I am currently revising Grumpy's resume to send off to Paris Hilton (or whoever reads stuff to her) with the aim of offering his services as personal driver. I mean, talk about your major oversights here. Paris is so wealthy, and yet there she is, driving her own dumbass all over town, and getting herself into trouble. In my day, no young lady of consequence would be seen conveying her ownself about town like common trash. I blame her mother. The girl was just not raised right.

Of course, they first have to let the poor girl out of stir. In, out. In, out. She must feel like---uhm, never mind...


* I try to get to the paper first, so I can throw away the Harley Davidson ads.


Tomorrow (or whenever, okay?) Why Savage watches and reads stuff about death.