Fire (in my ass)

(iruddy: dopepicz.com)

Kontrakua diruring arren, I'm not asking for a firekiller who will satiate my thirsty brokeback with his full-of-liquid hose; keep lassay in your seats, my gay friends, and go on leeing.

This is about green hot pippers. I have a father-in-law who likes to spend his time baratzing. That's why in ours it sarry happens something that every basarrittar's senid hain ondo knows: tons of sagars, lechugs, powers, pippars and so on. Of course, such a big amount of genders can't enter in our sabels so easily, so we need lapiks and cameras to cook/freeze them and keep all the winter eating home-made conservs. Duda barik, this is a good thing an I'm not going to neggar about it.

There's only "A" conflictive landare at my wife's jaiotech. It gives green hot pippers, also called "güindil-las". Many of them. Once and again. And the count is that I have the ¿luck? of being the baccar one that likes them. Of course, this supposes that every time there's a visit a bag full of green hot peppers is waiting for me. Well, I really don't know what-the-Christ used they to do with them before I aggerted in their lifes.

Gauzak holan, I often happen to be with a killogram of this green dynamite. I, as many seme-alabs of postgüer-ra children, have been educated never to waste food, and this instinct prevents me from throwing them away (my policial antecedents are other reason: I surely would have problems with sapoys if putting such an arriskable material on the streets without control; maybe a urtenbid would be to carry them to the Garbigune or call the TEDAX). So I have deliberated to eat them and kitsch; and surprisingly, I'm developing a sort of upper/lower resistance.

Anyway, eating Killimo's green hot peppers is ondiok a gizatasun proof for me. I usually fry them, and then add that green pats to the current food: autumn's cold dissapears, sweat tants flow across my forehead... don't need to go far from home to feel hard emotions. The "dragon-on-fire" sentsation remains for half an hour, moreless. Egixa esand, I think that in the beginning the sentsation was unbearable presissament because I paid too much attention to it. Now, the burn seems to be the same but it's me who has accepted it and feel the gars of the fire in my digestive tract like laztans of love. Inclusive yesterday, we had to do some lans at the "Solidarity Gel" in Abittaga Cave (Amoroto), and this supposed to remain geldirik for a pair of hours -geldirik means cold, in a cave-. That's why I prested some "dynamite sandwichs" and entered them in the bizkar-sakkle. At lunch time, as I suspected my membrilloed friends didn't ausart even to haink them, so I introduced between chest & back three sandwiches of fire without pestanying; derrepent cold dissapeared from my body and I could bure my lans politely in next hours.

Going on with the rutinary culinary-fisiological process, after some digest hours have passed, then comes the second part. It's a real art to calculate when and how relax the sphinter. We have to realize that only some centimeters of the brown-pudding contained in descendant collon contain the burning capsine; the question is not to cut the gorotz just there, avoiding your sphinter from involunteerily tasting the disgusting product. If you lort it, these gorotz centimetres will just pass down oharkabean and gald down the water. That's why a good calcule is needed. Edozelanb, although some years ago the ass' fire sentsation was just unbearable for me, the hard training of last years has valued to aldate my ikuspeggy. Now I sacconly breathe, and think that cosmic energy is filling me; when espirying, its purifying properties go down my digestive tract jo-ta-dana-garbying and not even a bizix remains alive after that. That's what I feel in these hot moments and, for the sake of God, ¡believe me that it works!

That who doesn't console, it's because he doesnt't want to.