A Swedish Pasta Tried To Kill Me

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Well it’s all over thank God, and it nearly was.

Sorry to God, baby Jesus and all you angels out there. Really wanted to celebrate the birth of Christ with you all, but not in heaven. I’m not exactly sure who it was, God or Satan, that cooked up the dirty little bowl of salmonella that I stuffed my face with on Christmas Eve. Was this God’s way of driving home gluttony as one of his top ten sins? Or Satan’s idea of ruining my cousin Moa’s vegetarian roast Xmas lunch in Gothenburg? Did I simply will this on out of sheer carnivourous disgust? Whomever it was and wherever you are, let it be known that this is war. Ooops, did I say it’s a war? Promised myself I wouldn’t do that. Well now that we’re on the topic, yes, and thank you for asking. That particular song is getting absolutely smashed over in Berlin (thanks to our new indi family at Motor Records). It will be the only thing running through my head as i gently deep fry the chef at ‘Ches Scando’s’ balls in battery acid.

Joy to the world,

Jack, a duke