Author Archives: Michael Procopio
There was nothing especially sweet about it, but then I thought, there rarely is with pain, whether it’s of the French or English variety. Continue reading
…consume the drink in one or two large gulps, and tell everyone who’s been staring at you for the past three minutes that you’re just fine.
I finally– finally– found myself able to sit back, relax, and enjoy a fucking cupcake. Continue reading
I happen to like multiple flavors and textures in my mouth at the same time. And I mean that in the cleanest way possible.
The only thing I have trouble reconciling is the fact that this melon has a thick skin, which doesn’t quite jibe with the legend of this famed Lesbian* poet of antiquity hurling herself off a cliff when she found her love unrequited. Continue reading
I had hoped the subtext of my gesture expressed the message “I now know your secret and will carry it to my grave”, but such things are extremely difficult to convey in low light with a mediocre musical number performed by under-rehearsed former celebrities happening behind you… Continue reading
Calling horta “braised greens” is an act of descriptive kindness and far more appetizing than calling them what they essentially are, which is boiled weeds. Continue reading
I knew if wanted to taste his Big Beefaroni, I was going to have to pay for it. Continue reading
I can drink sangria and watch Il Maesto’s films without tiring of either until death overtakes me. Or oblivion. Whichever one comes first. Continue reading