Keith Watanabe * NET 2.0

With all the obesity cases going around, some preach that you should eat more at home than going out. Then there's my home. My dad was a good cook, but you all know what happened to him. Then there's The HEAD. The Big, Fat, Veiny Object. You're safer eating rat feces from a rodent that was injected with poison than touching my mom's....uh...what would you call it? It's not cooking. I call it attempted homocide. I've heard people complaining about dysentery from buffets in Vegas (like Surf Town, Murkus Murkus and IP, no, not intellectual property). Then there's my mom's hand with the stove which probably contributed to my father's stroke more than his bad habits combined. This isn't your innocent, little granny with good intentions, but someone who intends to cause punishment to the universe. That's how bad it is eating at my home. I keep swearing never to eat at home again. After tonight's, I still don't know what to call it, let's saying weekly poisoning, I made an oath that wasting is better than being infected with whatever crap she produces. No more sorrow. I prefer starving honestly at this point. I think whatever decision my mom makes about food will automatically be nullified by me. I will flat out refuse all food served or suggested by my mom. Right now I feel as though someone stuffed a rock in my belly. And I thought I learned after all those years in high school. And people wondered why I got fat in college. Well, it's because whatever was served elsewhere certainly beat the hell of what my mom "prepared!!!!"