Oh, to heck with it

I should be writing Englist lit coursework comparing the aspects of tragedy and comedy as they relate to themes of love within Old English poetry, Elizabethan theatre, and the modern novel, and doing various editor-monkey tasks, and looking up exactly what it is that copper (II) sulphate does when it gets happy with ammonia, but seriously? I'd rather be lazy and procrastinate. And, you know, let my mind drift back to... oh, Christmas or so. Not that the day itself is really significant or anything. What's important is that some time between Christmas and New Years', I made the most decadent trufflepiething concoction I have ever eaten.

It was sort of based off a smlove, but because I have only so much of a deathwish, I left off the crust, caramel, and pecans, and instead just made it in a springform pan. Oh, and I kind of kludged all the rest of the ingredients and substituted this and that and... well, anyway, it was a smlove at heart.


(The fact that it contained seventeen ounces of chocolate and no small amount of Cap'n Morgan's might have had something to do with its ridiculous sexosity. Yes, Pound Plus, you're reading that right. But hey, it's not all bad! We have fruit in the background, or something. Yeah.)

(Don't even try to tell me that's not the sexiest thing since time began.)

 (Just thinking about the smell of this thing is getting me a little high.)

Go! Do! Make a smlove! If I can nearly kill my entire family and all our acquaintances with just one layer... man, I don't even want to imagine the colossal damage one so inclined could inflict with a full-on smlove attack. It boggles the mind.

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