rowlandanthonyimperial
Saturday, May 17, 2008
07:27
Food crisis.
They say it's called homesickness.
Well, I think it's called a gastronomic catastrophe.
Curse the catered 'food':
My muscles are retrograding, slackening, like a melting jelly tongue ice drop. My brain has been maimed, and as a result my academic performance has transformed from nice gourmet food to undigested shit. My bones are on the brink of becoming osteopor-ized. My eyes are reddening, my eye bags are blackening, my skin is becoming cadaverous and my hair is transforming into dry haystack.
I need real food.
I need to go back home.
