your goose is probably only half-baked at this point

I love how incredibly stupid Han Solo is. First, he goes to the homeworld of the gangster who's put a price on his head.  Then, he straight-up murders a dude in broad daylight for trying to collect on that price, and then instead of, I dunno, getting the hell out as fast as he can, he sticks around waiting for some old dude and his snot-nosed Outlands brat buddy to get on his ship, just because they promised they weren't broke.  And then  he totally puts his neck on the chopping block to save a princess because the aforementioned broke snot-nosed Outlands brat promised that she's rich, nevermind the fact that the world on which she was rich was just reduced to what Han thought was an asteroid field, which means her assets' value is questionable at best. He doesn't get any smarter, either.  Bumbles his way through the trilogy like an idiot, gets his dumb ass frozen in carbonite, then doesn't use protection and ends up with a patricidal son.  WHOOPS. Oh well...

I love pancakes, but man they do not love me back.  Probably because they're nothing but oil and sugar with a bit of processed flour, combined with an egg and fried in butter -- can't imagine  why a human stomach might look at that and say, "Uh, no.  Please and thank you no ." But hey, if you eat pancakes with a veggie-heavy smoothie, they won't kill you as much, and that's awesome because it means you get to eat pancakes, which is just how some weekend days need to go. The name comes from that scene in the original Star Wars  where Luke comes into Leia's holding cell aboard the first Death Star  and tears off his helmet, declaring in his adorably bratty way, "I'm Luke Skywalker!  I'm here to rescue you!"  It must have been humid on that set (I'm betting from the water in the trash compactor, but try not to think about that too hard) because the way his hair fluffs out all over the goddamn place as he's delivering his heroic ...

My partner and I went to a restaurant a few weeks back and for dessert, we got a slice of something called the "Imposible." It was advertised as "chocolate cake with custard drizzled with caramel." As it turns out, that's like telling someone about Niagara Falls by saying "It's some rocks with water falling off it." This thing was ACTUALLY chocolate cake made with cinnamon and cayenne pepper, topped with a thick vanilla custard, dusted over with cinnamon, and drizzled in rich warm caramel sauce. We each took a bite and melted a little because holy heavens it was good. "I know how to make this," I told my partner. "Really?" he said. "This is a thing?" "No," I said (around a mouthful of cake, I wasn't about to let conversation rob me of my fair half of the slice), "but I can make this." (Side-note: my other superpowers include being able to nap anywhere, diving way too deep way too fast in...