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A slave bases his value on his output.

Happy Birthday to LeBron Raymone James my Bron Bron my goat my king my spoiled little emperor my xiao huangdi my zhan huang my 小皇帝 my 左 my 왼 my 攻 my 1 my gong my alpha my baby lion my sunshine my role model my top my diva seme my world my life my love

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Unemployed master

meatloaf recipe

Ingredients:

1 ½ pounds ground beef

1 egg

1 onion, chopped

1 cup milk

1 cup dried bread crumbs

salt and pepper to taste

2 tablespoons brown sugar

2 tablespoons prepared mustard

⅓ cup ketchup

Step one
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).

Step two
In a large bowl, combine the beef, egg, onion, milk and bread OR cracker crumbs. Season with salt and pepper to taste and place in a lightly greased 9x5-inch loaf pan, or form into a loaf and place in a lightly greased 9x13-inch baking dish.

Step three
In a separate small bowl, combine the brown sugar, mustard and ketchup. Mix well and pour over the meatloaf.

Step four
Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 1 hour.

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of 14 a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking... I highly suggest you try it.