A Picture-Blog Story, Being of the Kind Not Generally Recommended for Children and/or Strictly Carnivores

Once upon a time there was a plot of land.  That's not the same thing as saying that the land had its own agenda and that it was full of scheming.  There are plots of land like that, but this is not that kind of story.  So if you want that kind of story, just pack your things and find yourself a different Source, cause this one ain't gonna yield to you, Mr.-Evil-Soils Person.

Anyway, it was a dark and stormy night one day and there was a plot of land 'neath the clouded, clear skies.  Now the skies aren't duplicates, they just are.  Jive?  And on this land a man worked the ground and planted crops.  He took his hoe and brutalized the faithless dirt.  He garnered his seeds and spread them in the ground.  He tapped into the vast reservoir beneath his property and watered the now victimized land, and in the end he saw that it was good.  And when he finished there, he was so pleased with himself that he found another victim and assaulted it, too.

As los dias passed, the man watched his creation gingerly.  The man was especially good at watching things gingerly, as his glorious mane atop his smooth head once was a radiant rojo.  Alas, now only a beard of ruddy brown and auburn exists.  But he watched his plots develop, exposition pouring out into conflicts, lecherous invaders fighting to overthrow the planted seeds and tended ground, the rising action cascading into a calamitous climax of angry fingers and wicked instruments, strewn dirt and black compost, an angry sol and a bitter, cloudless, rainless cielo.

An event so important to the story of the man, so life changing that it deserves to be boldfaced and underlined, happened upon him quite expectantly, though somehow altogether unexpected when it did.  This event is intertwined with the plot of land, as it drew the man away from his plots for a time.  Where once he cared (gingerly) and tended, his presence was suddenly gone, leaving the lone crops unprotected from the wretched invaders.  And when he returned, his precious plots were overran and nigh vanquished.  The invaders had won.  In fury, the man threw himself at the plots, greedy fingers pulling anew, rending many of the new inhabitants to pieces for their sins.  He fought valiantly, but the war had been decided and he had been defeated.

His heart left the plots then and he went off to spend his time with the aftermath of the aforementioned event.  And the plots of land grew lonely.  The sun burned fiercer.  The clouds scoffed in their stingy pride.  From time to time the man would remember his plots and tend to them with water and a fleeting, uninterested attempt of ousting.

And anon came the day of betrayal, when the man decided to once again victimize his subdued plots.  He stole from their weakness great bulbs of onions, crooked limbs of carrots, balls of tomatoes, noses of squash, bells of peppers, and handfuls of herbs.  The time of reckoning was at hand, and they were found in need.  The man prepared his crops, baptizing them gently in the cool waters of Faucet.  He lay them on the altar and then picked up the CutToTheBonePamperedChef Knife.  And without a second thought, he began his slaughter.  Ruthlessly, he also sacrificed the captured prisoners of potato and celery alongside his own beloved.

When the sacrifice was finished, the man coated the pieces with oil and pepper, a bit of salt, and a dab of butter.  He then threw them in the wok and gave them over to the god of StoveTop Heat.  Time passed, steam rose, the foreigner named Arroz was added, and the crops died again at this third betrayal.

After it was all over, the man partitioned out pieces of the sacrifice and filled two bowls.  He then gave thanks to God for the food, handed one to his wife, and commenced the final betrayal.

fin.