cimorene

especially not any substitutes labeled 'twelve-grain.' this bread is... so gross. it is blander than bland, blander than plain white bread. it has little... bits of... texture in it.

we are now going to try dipping this bread of grossness into our blackcurrant tea (which we brew thick and drink black, 'like a man,' as some throat-closingly charming person once said to me).

[edit:

me: maybe if it is soaked longer
stevie: no, that will make it worse
me: if you soak it, put it in your mouth wet, don't chew much and then drink three mouthfuls of tea--
me: ::drinks three more::
stevie: that's too much work
me: okay, it's going in the garbage.
stevie: good call

and it was so.]

[[edit, parte dos:

me: oh my fucking god this bread is so gross
me: ::washes mouth out with tea::
me: if you are in the cafeteria, and this guy holds a gun to your head and tells you to open the box labelled 'twelve-grain bread'?
me: don't do it except with a ten-foot pole.
stevie: lol
stevie: i'll keep that in mind
me: it's not as easy as it looks, but trust me, you don't want to get closer than that to it.

references to this inside joke.]]

[[[edit iii: how can you not love a song that starts, 'yo, this is for my mothafuckin' club heads, y'all'?]]]