No.

I had a huge curry rice bowl with fresh veggies for dinner

Mach said:

I could change the elements in the story around. Perhaps change Patrick to a girl and Macheala, and God to Zerba the Goddess of Autumn Harvest?

Imago said:

Fuck curry man

Mach said:

This is not related to the thread but I wanted everyone to know I was tractor when tractor wasn't cool.

THAI CURRY NOT MAKE PEOPLE KILLING PEOPLE!

YOU BAD THAI PERSON!! THE KING NOT LOVE YOU!!

YOU PERSON NOT STAND IN THE CINEMA!!!!!

After a sip of the curry, Patrick realized that he must have left something out. All the basic elements appeared to be there, but the sauce was missing something . Normally, because it was curry, he would suspect that it was pepper; but, the sauce was plenty hot. Careful not to burn his tongue again, he slowly took a sip, trying to savor the various counter-acting flavors of Thai curry, to determine what he was missing. Could it be basil? Perhaps more fish sauce? Or maybe salt? Salt always seemed to do the trick with other dishes, but he suspected it wouldn’t do anything but make this curry chicken saltier than it already was.
Moderation--it was all about moderation. Patrick knew that if he overdid any of the opposing flavors of the dish, that it would end up taking on a life of it’s own, and ruining the taste of the dish. Like several South East Asian dishes, he knew that the trick was to take flavors that were juxtaposed to each other and harmonize them. The pungent spiciness of basil was offset by the salty flavor of fish sauce, the nutty undertone of peanuts and coconut milk, and the kick of red peppers--all sweetened with a little bit of sugar. But he had taken all of these things into consideration. He had slowly and meticulously added each ingredient exactly at the right moments, sipping and tasting the sauce as he did so. And still to no avail.
He knew that he would have to swallow his pride and ask mother. Mother would know what was missing. Mother would recommend the key missing ingredient.
Patrick set the metal spoon down neatly on the utensil tray, wiped his hands on his apron instinctively, walked down the hall and into the last room on the right.
“Mom, I need your advise on this curry sauce,” he called out as if to announce his arrival into the room before entering.
But Catherine couldn’t help her son. She had already given up her ghosts, and passed away sometime in the last hour. Her body tied to the wall, splayed out in a crucifix pose, shackled in chains, and covered in welts, soars, and bloody holes from where he had taken a power drill to her. To her left, hung his unconscious , step-father, whose naked body bore the signs of the same frightful tortures, including what appeared to be a crudely conducted castration.
His brother and sister suffered only a few lesser insults before their demise, but altogether, Patrick had an exhausting, tiresome weekend. And now, despite all his careful planning, his final meal before become a fugitive and angel of God would have the one minor flaw of being inauthentic in flavor.
Sighing to himself, Patrick walked back into the kitchen and attempted to finish making the dish. Things didn’t have to be perfect. Indeed, the world was an imperfect place, its design flawed by free will. Human beings had taken the precious gift of life, of intelligence, and of freedom, and raped the land around them, driven the animals in their care to extinction, and poisoned the skies and seas with the sins of industry. God was displeased. And Patrick was his horn. Patrick smiled. His work had just begun.





….. ok, can someone finish this for me?




Thanks.

.
[Edited 6/23/08 18:00pm]

After a sip of the curry, Patrick realized that he must have left something out. All the basic elements appeared to be there, but the sauce was missing something . Normally, because it was curry, he would suspect that it was pepper; but, the sauce was plenty hot. Careful not to burn his tongue again, he slowly took a sip, trying to savor the various counter-acting flavors of Thai curry, to determine what he was missing. Could it be basil? Perhaps more fish sauce? Or maybe salt? Salt always seemed to do the trick with other dishes, but he suspected it wouldn’t do anything but make this curry chicken saltier than it already was.
Moderation--it was all about moderation. Patrick knew that if he overdid any of the opposing flavors of the dish, that it would end up taking on a life of it’s own, and ruining the taste of the dish. Like several South East Asian dishes, he knew that the trick was to take flavors that were juxtaposed to each other and harmonize them. The pungent spiciness of basil was offset by the salty flavor of fish sauce, the nutty undertone of peanuts and coconut milk, and the kick of red peppers--all sweetened with a little bit of sugar. But he had taken all of these things into consideration. He had slowly and meticulously added each ingredient exactly at the right moments, sipping and tasting the sauce as he did so. And still to no avail.
He knew that he would have to swallow his pride and ask mother. Mother would know what was missing. Mother would recommend the key missing ingredient.
Patrick set the metal spoon down neatly on the utensil tray, wiped his hands on his apron instinctively, walked down the hall and into the last room on the right.
“Mom, I need your advise on this curry sauce,” he called out as if to announce his arrival into the room before entering.
But Catherine couldn’t help her son. She had already given up her ghosts, and passed away sometime in the last hour. Her body tied to the wall, splayed out in a crucifix pose, shackled in chains, and covered in welts, soars, and bloody holes from where he had taken a power drill to her. To her left, hung his unconscious , step-father, whose naked body bore the signs of the same frightful tortures, including what appeared to be a crudely conducted castration.
His brother and sister suffered only a few lesser insults before their demise, but altogether, Patrick had an exhausting, tiresome weekend. And now, despite all his careful planning, his final meal before become a fugitive and angel of God would have the one minor flaw of being inauthentic in flavor.
Sighing to himself, Patrick walked back into the kitchen and attempted to finish making the dish. Things didn’t have to be perfect. Indeed, the world was an imperfect place, its design flawed by free will. Human beings had taken the precious gift of life, of intelligence, and of freedom, and raped the land around them, driven the animals in their care to extinction, and poisoned the skies and seas with the sins of industry. God was displeased. And Patrick was his horn. Patrick smiled. His work had just begun.





….. ok, can someone finish this for me?




Thanks.

.
[Edited 6/23/08 18:00pm]

Imago said:

Imago said:

Fauxie said:

suddenly a voice walking in from the distance in a bright purple dress,matching pumps,and necklace.
"curry... did somebody say curry?...chile i love me some curry"

it was patti...she worked quiet a sweat and appetite.she was on her way to fauxies house cause she heard he had a/c and the internet and she wanted to check her orgnotes...."oww lawd its hot here,chile!" patti exclaimed to her asst. latoya jackson. just then they arrive at fauxies house and....

Imago said:

seriously, i thought your trip overseas was going to be a lot more interesting than what you've indicated so far.

Xcalibre said:

for real!

abierman said:

I wish retina would hurry back and put you in your place

abierman said:

I wish retina would hurry back and put you in your place

Imago said:

Fauxie said:

suddenly a voice walking in from the distance in a bright purple dress,matching pumps,and necklace.
"curry... did somebody say curry?...chile i love me some curry"

it was patti...she worked quiet a sweat and appetite.she was on her way to fauxies house cause she heard he had a/c and the internet and she wanted to check her orgnotes...."oww lawd its hot here,chile!" patti exclaimed to her asst. latoya jackson. just then they arrive at fauxies house and....

After a sip of the curry, Patrick realized that he must have left something out. All the basic elements appeared to be there, but the sauce was missing something . Normally, because it was curry, he would suspect that it was pepper; but, the sauce was plenty hot. Careful not to burn his tongue again, he slowly took a sip, trying to savor the various counter-acting flavors of Thai curry, to determine what he was missing. Could it be basil? Perhaps more fish sauce? Or maybe salt? Salt always seemed to do the trick with other dishes, but he suspected it wouldn’t do anything but make this curry chicken saltier than it already was.
Moderation--it was all about moderation. Patrick knew that if he overdid any of the opposing flavors of the dish, that it would end up taking on a life of it’s own, and ruining the taste of the dish. Like several South East Asian dishes, he knew that the trick was to take flavors that were juxtaposed to each other and harmonize them. The pungent spiciness of basil was offset by the salty flavor of fish sauce, the nutty undertone of peanuts and coconut milk, and the kick of red peppers--all sweetened with a little bit of sugar. But he had taken all of these things into consideration. He had slowly and meticulously added each ingredient exactly at the right moments, sipping and tasting the sauce as he did so. And still to no avail.
He knew that he would have to swallow his pride and ask mother. Mother would know what was missing. Mother would recommend the key missing ingredient.
Patrick set the metal spoon down neatly on the utensil tray, wiped his hands on his apron instinctively, walked down the hall and into the last room on the right.
“Mom, I need your advise on this curry sauce,” he called out as if to announce his arrival into the room before entering.
But Catherine couldn’t help her son. She had already given up her ghosts, and passed away sometime in the last hour. Her body tied to the wall, splayed out in a crucifix pose, shackled in chains, and covered in welts, soars, and bloody holes from where he had taken a power drill to her. To her left, hung his unconscious , step-father, whose naked body bore the signs of the same frightful tortures, including what appeared to be a crudely conducted castration.
His brother and sister suffered only a few lesser insults before their demise, but altogether, Patrick had an exhausting, tiresome weekend. And now, despite all his careful planning, his final meal before become a fugitive and angel of God would have the one minor flaw of being inauthentic in flavor.
Sighing to himself, Patrick walked back into the kitchen and attempted to finish making the dish. Things didn’t have to be perfect. Indeed, the world was an imperfect place, its design flawed by free will. Human beings had taken the precious gift of life, of intelligence, and of freedom, and raped the land around them, driven the animals in their care to extinction, and poisoned the skies and seas with the sins of industry. God was displeased. And Patrick was his horn. Patrick smiled. His work had just begun.





….. ok, can someone finish this for me?




Thanks.

.
[Edited 6/23/08 18:00pm]

I love it!!!!!



now you need to go back in time to where his mother abused him or let his stepfather abuse him, and he was sweet little innocent patrick and not the monster he is now. it's back story time!

Imago said:

No I want you to finish it. I like sick Horror novels like that.