Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Mud Pile--Installment 4 Jedidiah Stitch
When lying in a mud puddle at the edge of a drunk man’s feet, you only have a few options. One, stand up and hope that the drunk man forgets that he was trying to kill you. Two, roll away and start running, and three, lay there until the stench becomes unbearable. Jedidiah lied there long enough to pray and realized that yes, the mud was not all that comfortable and the stench was unbearable.
He stood up, facing the man and to his delight the man had lowered the gun. The old man teetered back and forth and still appeared to be contemplating a jump. The jump would have caused him to tumble into a rather nasty ditch, with steep sides that would break his back if it didn’t kill him.
“May I pray for you?” Jed asked while trying to straighten out his mud encrusted pajamas.
“Little boy, I have never seen anyone so brave as you, “the old man stretched out his hand to shake Jed’s. “My name is Monty and yes, you may pray for me. I can’t believe that you, a stranger, would try to stop me from jumping. It’s amazing!” Monty smiled his toothless grin.
Jedidiah and the man sat at the edge of the bridge with their feet dangling in the wind. Jedidiah prayed for Monty as if he were an old friend. In fact, as Jedidiah prayed, knowledge about the man flew from his lips. He prayed about the man’s failed marriage, his drinking problem, his estranged children and most importantly his salvation.
Before leaving the man, Jedidiah gave him the tattered Bible. Now he must go home to change out of the muddy clothes and to recharge himself as well. It was probably only noon, but Jedidiah had already worked a full day.
The walk back home was slow. The mud on his pants was drying in the noonday sun and his mud caked arms itched. Jedidiah didn’t realize how hungry he was until he devoured the apple from his backpack while sitting on the same bench that he did earlier that morning. He continued east towards the dirt lot where he found three more bottle caps, to add to his collection, and a broken wrist watch.
When Jedidiah reached his house, he contemplated whether he should go right through the front door or climb back up the tree. It wouldn’t be a first for Jed’s mom to see her son come home so disheveled. Nor would it be the first time, that Jed climbed the tree to sneak directly into his room. Jed’s mom used to worry when she found her son missing. She used to call the neighbors to see if they knew where her son was. Many of them did not know Jed well and they never knew where he was. She even called the police one time to see if they could track him down, but he was home within that hour.
Jedidiah decided upon his front door, for he was far too exhausted to climb the tree. He opened it cautiously, expecting either his mother or one of his brothers to be staring at his filthy appearance, but no one did. His mom could have walked down to the corner store. Their car has been broken for over a year and sits rusting away in the driveway. Jared, the oldest promised to fix it, but never did, and now that he is incarcerated probably never will. Jimmy, who is 16, may decide that he wants the freedom a car can provide so he may fix it soon.
“Mom!” Jedidiah’s call echoed in the empty hallway. Her purse was still on the floor by her door where it always is when she is home. She never goes anywhere without it. In fact, with three of his four brothers living at home, it is rarely this quiet. Where could everyone be?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Installment 3 Jedidiah Stitch
“Mickey Massacre”
Any normal 10 year old would never think of walking towards the barrel of a loaded gun. Fortunately, Jedidiah was not a normal 10 year old. Jedidiah was not always so brave, however. There was a time, almost a year before, that Jedidiah was made fun of at school for his long name, his short stature, his messy blond hair that even gel could not tame, and his clothes that were usually quite worn looking as they were passed from brother to brother, finally arriving at the youngest of 4.
Then Jedidiah met Mickey “Massacre” Smith, the meanest biggest bully in the 5th grade. Jedidiah was the smallest wimpiest kid in the 4th grade. Mickey would give wedgies to the kindergartners and steal lunch money from little first grade girls leaving them in tears.
Nobody dared to stand up to The Massacre because he was so huge and terrifying. Jedidiah would not have stood up to him either if it weren’t for Susie Sullivan. Susie had eyes that sparkled like diamonds, a smile as sweet as ice cream, and curly golden locks the color of sunshine. Mickey made Susie cry by spitting on her ham sandwich. Jedidiah couldn’t stand it any longer.
Jedidiah was a flea compared to Mickey. Despite this, he walked right up to Mickey confronting him. He raised his right fist as high as he could, which only fell to Mickey’s belly. Jed was sure that Mickey’s belly was as hard as a bag of rocks, but none-the-less he started to slowly move his fist towards it. Right before contact was made, Jed heard a voice. The voice said “Stop! Pray!”
Now Jedidiah recognized a voice as his conscious, the softer version of his own voice when faced with indecision, but this voice was different. He knew this was God. Jedidiah accepted Christ into his heart at a tender age of 6 and at that time, even though he truly meant well, he did not know what that meant entirely. He never heard this voice so clearly before. This voice was telling Jedidiah to not only stop, but to pray….for Mickey. Jedidiah slowly put his fist down. He stood silently in prayer, while a very shocked Mickey started to laugh.
“Have you met the Lord Jesus?” Jedidiah calmly asked the huge 5th grader.
Mickey’s mouth dropped open. His knees gave way and he fell to the dirty cafeteria floor. Then his chuckles turned to sobbing.
Jedidiah, determined to make a difference, kept at it. “Jesus died for you and me. You can know him as I do and change your ways.”
Mickey looked up and directed his anger, frustrations and sadness of his horrible home life towards the heavens; putting aside all of these, he replied, “I want to change. I do. I do.”
By this time the entire 5th grade, and most of the 4th, were surrounding the two boys, mostly standing in awe of what they were witnessing. The smallest boy at Thomas Morrow Elementary School had brought the biggest boy in the city to his knees in submission.
Of course, Jedidiah knew that it was God and not by his own strength that had done this miracle, but most of the kids did not. Close to 4o students witnessed Jedidiah lead Mickey “the Massacre” to Christ and they wanted to have that same power.
Ever since this incident a year ago, Jedidiah has spoken directly to God. His dreams and visions tell him what to do and his prayers give him the tools he needs to accomplish his missions. This is why Jedidiah was not afraid to walk towards the barrel of a gun, a loaded one at that. After all, the Lord was in charge and this was not his ending. In fact, as Jedidiah continued to walk forward, at approximately the same time that the man pulled the trigger, Jedidiah tripped on a stick. He fell to the muddy ground and narrowly, but not coincidentally, missed being shot in the face by a deadly bullet
Any normal 10 year old would never think of walking towards the barrel of a loaded gun. Fortunately, Jedidiah was not a normal 10 year old. Jedidiah was not always so brave, however. There was a time, almost a year before, that Jedidiah was made fun of at school for his long name, his short stature, his messy blond hair that even gel could not tame, and his clothes that were usually quite worn looking as they were passed from brother to brother, finally arriving at the youngest of 4.
Then Jedidiah met Mickey “Massacre” Smith, the meanest biggest bully in the 5th grade. Jedidiah was the smallest wimpiest kid in the 4th grade. Mickey would give wedgies to the kindergartners and steal lunch money from little first grade girls leaving them in tears.
Nobody dared to stand up to The Massacre because he was so huge and terrifying. Jedidiah would not have stood up to him either if it weren’t for Susie Sullivan. Susie had eyes that sparkled like diamonds, a smile as sweet as ice cream, and curly golden locks the color of sunshine. Mickey made Susie cry by spitting on her ham sandwich. Jedidiah couldn’t stand it any longer.
Jedidiah was a flea compared to Mickey. Despite this, he walked right up to Mickey confronting him. He raised his right fist as high as he could, which only fell to Mickey’s belly. Jed was sure that Mickey’s belly was as hard as a bag of rocks, but none-the-less he started to slowly move his fist towards it. Right before contact was made, Jed heard a voice. The voice said “Stop! Pray!”
Now Jedidiah recognized a voice as his conscious, the softer version of his own voice when faced with indecision, but this voice was different. He knew this was God. Jedidiah accepted Christ into his heart at a tender age of 6 and at that time, even though he truly meant well, he did not know what that meant entirely. He never heard this voice so clearly before. This voice was telling Jedidiah to not only stop, but to pray….for Mickey. Jedidiah slowly put his fist down. He stood silently in prayer, while a very shocked Mickey started to laugh.
“Have you met the Lord Jesus?” Jedidiah calmly asked the huge 5th grader.
Mickey’s mouth dropped open. His knees gave way and he fell to the dirty cafeteria floor. Then his chuckles turned to sobbing.
Jedidiah, determined to make a difference, kept at it. “Jesus died for you and me. You can know him as I do and change your ways.”
Mickey looked up and directed his anger, frustrations and sadness of his horrible home life towards the heavens; putting aside all of these, he replied, “I want to change. I do. I do.”
By this time the entire 5th grade, and most of the 4th, were surrounding the two boys, mostly standing in awe of what they were witnessing. The smallest boy at Thomas Morrow Elementary School had brought the biggest boy in the city to his knees in submission.
Of course, Jedidiah knew that it was God and not by his own strength that had done this miracle, but most of the kids did not. Close to 4o students witnessed Jedidiah lead Mickey “the Massacre” to Christ and they wanted to have that same power.
Ever since this incident a year ago, Jedidiah has spoken directly to God. His dreams and visions tell him what to do and his prayers give him the tools he needs to accomplish his missions. This is why Jedidiah was not afraid to walk towards the barrel of a gun, a loaded one at that. After all, the Lord was in charge and this was not his ending. In fact, as Jedidiah continued to walk forward, at approximately the same time that the man pulled the trigger, Jedidiah tripped on a stick. He fell to the muddy ground and narrowly, but not coincidentally, missed being shot in the face by a deadly bullet
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Jedidiah Stitch continued....part 2
Here is the 2nd installment of my serial blog story. Please come back next Thursday for part 3
Without even flinching, Jedidiah reached inside his backpack and pulled out the flashlight and bible. He began reading from John chapter 3. The nameless man dropped the plank and got on his knees. He began to cry as Jedidiah read “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotton son, For whoever believes in him shall not perish but will have everlasting life.” The man, who was by this point weeping uncontrollably, slowly crawled over to the huddled children and untied them. Jedidiah kept reading, as if he did not even notice the man’s actions. “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” Then Jedidiah stopped and looked at the man and children crammed together in the corner. He then reached in his back pack and handed the youngest boy the two cars. He gave the scared 6 year old girl a stick of gum and to the oldest boy, who looked maybe 9, he gave the comic books. Then he gave a stick of gum to the man, who now looked embarrassed. Jedidiah sat down next to the man.
“What is your name?” Jedidiah asked boldly.
“Elliot Bently” the plankless man replied.
“You are forgiven by God’s grace. Just send the kids home.” Jedidiah said and rose to stand. Then he turned and headed out the unplanked window.
Jedidiah knew that he was not going home. He walked 3 more blocks further into the seedy downtown area. Most 10 year olds would have trembled in fear, but Jedidiah was not afraid. He walked until he found a dirty wooden bench. He sat down and prayed for wisdom and guidance.
After almost a half hour, Jed started walked west toward a bridge. There was a man, standing on the edge of it staring into the ditch below. He wavered back and forth. The man, whose clothes were ragged and dirty, did not seem well.
“Hey sir!” Jedidiah called to the man.
“Uh” the man whimpered back.
“Please don’t jump”
The old man pulled out a pistol and pointed it towards Jed. “How dare you tell me what to do youngin’” The man uttered. “You have no idea what I am going through.”
Jedidiah calmly moved closer to the man, not fearing the gun that was pointed to his chest. “Please sir, I know more than you think and I know you are a child of God.”
The man, whose heart was stone, kept the gun up pointed at Jed. “I’ll take you out too boy. I am not afraid to die.” The arthritic hand wobbled but it stayed focused on its target.
“I know sir. But this is not God’s plan.” Jedidiah continued moving closer. He was so close, now Jed could smell the man’s stench of alcohol, tobacco and some other unidentifiable smells.
The old man pulled the trigger.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Jedidiah Stitch
1st installment of my serial novel, Jedidiah Stitch , come back next Thursday for part 2
Jedidiah Stitch tumbled out of his warm cozy bed onto the hard wooden floor. Today was a big day for Jedidiah. He crawled across the room and peered once again into his backpack that he packed the night before. There was a flashlight, his tattered Bible, three comic books, six sticks of gum, a sweat shirt, an apple, his bottle cap collection and 2 hot wheel cars. Then he added a string that used to belong to an old kite. He pulled the enormous backpack on his pajama clad body. Jedidiah was too excited to waste time with dressing this morning.
Jedidiah Stitch tumbled out of his warm cozy bed onto the hard wooden floor. Today was a big day for Jedidiah. He crawled across the room and peered once again into his backpack that he packed the night before. There was a flashlight, his tattered Bible, three comic books, six sticks of gum, a sweat shirt, an apple, his bottle cap collection and 2 hot wheel cars. Then he added a string that used to belong to an old kite. He pulled the enormous backpack on his pajama clad body. Jedidiah was too excited to waste time with dressing this morning.
He stealthfully tip-toed to the window and slowly climbed out onto the tree below. Jedidiah was now free. He rubbed his scraggly blond hair out of his eyes and decided the best course of action was west through the giant dirt lot. The dirt lot was full of interesting things to add to his backpack, things he may need on his journey down town.
Down town is four blocks from Jed’s small house on Jefferson Street. The dirt lot was bumpy and sometimes contained nails, which if found would be added to his stash. The only problem this morning was that Jedidiah forgot his shoes. So his dirty size threes scuffled through the empty lot.
Jedidiah didn’t know where his journey would lead him. His vision last night was of an old red brick building that had wood planks over the two upstairs windows. He could hear muffled crying and arguing but the vision ended without him recognizing what he was being called to do. When he packed his bag some of the odd items seemed to jump off his shelf and into his hands; still Jed had no idea what God had in store for him today.
After four long blocks and very swollen feet Jed saw the red building from his dream. The only thing missing was one wooden plank. Jedidiah climbed the metal staircase on his knees trying to avoid the squeaky steps. He could see in the one uncovered window. “Maybe I am too early, “ Jedidiah whispered.
There were three children huddled in the corner. Jedidiah knew that one of them was the crying child from the night before. Through the dimly lit room he could see that there was someone else there. He could feel an evil presence and the sweat from his brow was dripping onto his now muddy feet. He wiped his hands on the back of his puppy pajamas. Jedidiah knelt and prayed, not as a habit but as a necessity. He knew something was wrong here, someone was evil and something had to be done about it.
What Jedidiah didn’t know was that the man inside had the missing plank in his hand. For some reason the man thought he may need it. Did the man suspect a supernaturally charged ten year old was outside on his fire escape? Probably not. The man was scared, but not of anything earthly.
Jedidiah stood up and pulled on his sweat shirt. Then he tried to smooth down his unruly bed head and adjusted his pjs. He was not scared; rather he was full of peace. He still did not know what he was going to do, but those children did not belong in this abandoned apartment building. Those children needed to be saved.
Jedidiah wiggled his way under the planked window, the one closest to the children. A rumbling noise from the opposite corner revealed a dark figure wielding a wooden plank. Jed rose and stood facing the figure with his arms outstretched as a sign of surrender. He resembled the Lord on the cross with his dirt stained palms facing the man.
The man raised the plank even higher above his head ready to strike.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
What not to wear at Walmart (or anywhere else on the planet)
This weekend I went to Walmart and saw someone that needs to join the ranks of the worst dressed Walmart shopper. Yes, this list is long and easy to get onto. As a matter of fact, when you type in "worst dressed people at Walmart" there are several sites of photos that make it into this special hall of infamy. Any one wearing clothes in which your body parts hang out unnaturally or way to much skin is revealed automatically goes onto this list. Ladies who wear a double D but squeeze themselves into a "small" tee shirt easily are placed in the ranks of terrible clothing attire. I can't even fit my tiny self into a small tee shirt anymore and when I do I look like I am trying to relive my teenage years. People who are not children in pajamas also go on the list especially those with the cartoon character pjs. I saw a lady in her nasty scraggly robe there the other night and I was in awe, it was not even late enough to be in your robe as it was maybe 7 pm.
If you are going to purposely subject yourself to stares and glances of other shoppers, you should at least wear clean pajamas. Then there is the lady who thinks she is still 18, though to be nice she was over 40. I love the eighties, at least their music, but women in their middle 40's to 50's should not be wearing spandex pants with a neon over the shoulder shirt. I also recommend proper undergarments at the store. Heavy women should not wear spandex in any circumstance and they most definitely should wear underwear that covers properly and you most definitely need a bra with an over the shoulder shirt whatever size you are. I will save the visual for you and stop there. Also high heels do not go with everything, especially tiny shorts that by the way do not fit women in the plus sizes. I am not even allowed to wear my daisy dukes outside and I have a nice figure in my opinion. I have an itty bitty skirt that I thought would be nice to wear out and I know Jay, my best friend and body guard for the night, would have sent me back to my house to change.
Of course some people don't have time to prepare themselves before going out, I mean it is only Walmart right? I occasionally will wear my sweats out and have done so early or late at night. But I constantly see my students at Walmart so I know I can't look too scraggly. Yes, there have been occasions when my lion's mane was unruly or when my socks didn't match or even gasp, wearing a sports bra. But at least I know I won't be caught as one of the worst dressed there. I hate to only pick on the women shoppers, but unfortunately they bring it on themselves. I have seen a few men who have been flamboyant or colorful in their clothing choices at Walmart. Even seen a few men in their jammies there, but by far the women take the cake.
If you are going to purposely subject yourself to stares and glances of other shoppers, you should at least wear clean pajamas. Then there is the lady who thinks she is still 18, though to be nice she was over 40. I love the eighties, at least their music, but women in their middle 40's to 50's should not be wearing spandex pants with a neon over the shoulder shirt. I also recommend proper undergarments at the store. Heavy women should not wear spandex in any circumstance and they most definitely should wear underwear that covers properly and you most definitely need a bra with an over the shoulder shirt whatever size you are. I will save the visual for you and stop there. Also high heels do not go with everything, especially tiny shorts that by the way do not fit women in the plus sizes. I am not even allowed to wear my daisy dukes outside and I have a nice figure in my opinion. I have an itty bitty skirt that I thought would be nice to wear out and I know Jay, my best friend and body guard for the night, would have sent me back to my house to change.
Of course some people don't have time to prepare themselves before going out, I mean it is only Walmart right? I occasionally will wear my sweats out and have done so early or late at night. But I constantly see my students at Walmart so I know I can't look too scraggly. Yes, there have been occasions when my lion's mane was unruly or when my socks didn't match or even gasp, wearing a sports bra. But at least I know I won't be caught as one of the worst dressed there. I hate to only pick on the women shoppers, but unfortunately they bring it on themselves. I have seen a few men who have been flamboyant or colorful in their clothing choices at Walmart. Even seen a few men in their jammies there, but by far the women take the cake.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Crazy Coaster
If the crazy coaster comes to your house don't get on it. I have several people in my life that suffer from mental illness and the coaster comes to my house often. In fact it is sitting right outside my door waiting for me to sit down. The jackals on board are howling with satisfaction if I climb on and weeping if I do not. Sometimes the coaster seems tantalizing. I mean, what if it is different this time? What if I can make the course change? Sometimes it seems easier to join them in their self pity then the effort it takes not to. Especially for those who have the terrible habit that I do. I have this stubborn quality that hates being wrong so if the invitation is an argument, I usually find it hard to say no. I also can't handle being rejected well nor do I like being insulted. When these things happen I fight back and have found myself smack dab in the middle of the coaster.
The crazy roller coaster can even trick you. You think for sure this time you are not getting on and before you know it you are strapped in and headed for a downward spiral. I usually love roller coasters, but this is one coaster that I do not enjoy. Once you are on it, you are strapped in and thrust into a scary addictive series of twists and turns that you cannot control if you wished to. Yes, it is addictive....the rush of the roller coaster, but do not let the adreline rush reel you in.
This coaster is sometimes subtle in presenting itself and you may not even realize your on it until it is too late. I have even ridden the coaster and later gave an excuse to why I got on. In my mind it was a good reason, but in the sane mind my excuse is illogical. Once you climb on, you have yielded control of your situation. You are letting the driver, which is never you, have complete control. When the coaster is run by my 11 year old I need to remember that I can climb into the drivers seat and put on the brakes on it. God is in control not the roller coaster operator.
Instead of getting on the coaster you are to run from it, avoiding it at all costs. My wellness is critical for my family's sake. This last sentence was not reality for me last week. Last week I rode the coaster daily and was in constant state of dizziness. I wasn't contributing to my recovery, but instead was making the roller coaster more tantalizing of a choice.
I have the choice NOT to get on that coaster. When I emotionally detach from the situation at hand, no matter how crazy, I can be a better mom to my children, a better wife to my husband, a better friend and most importantly a better child of God. When I focus on God and ask Him for guidance about the situation that the coaster is weaving into, then God is in control of the coaster. Wether the coaster is spiralling into someone's depression,or climbing rapidly into a heated argument, or all out mania, I can choose to ignore it. I can choose to "change the dance" by not climbing aboard. If I have the urge to ride a roller coaster I need to go to Six Flags. Those coasters are definetly more fun.
The crazy roller coaster can even trick you. You think for sure this time you are not getting on and before you know it you are strapped in and headed for a downward spiral. I usually love roller coasters, but this is one coaster that I do not enjoy. Once you are on it, you are strapped in and thrust into a scary addictive series of twists and turns that you cannot control if you wished to. Yes, it is addictive....the rush of the roller coaster, but do not let the adreline rush reel you in.
This coaster is sometimes subtle in presenting itself and you may not even realize your on it until it is too late. I have even ridden the coaster and later gave an excuse to why I got on. In my mind it was a good reason, but in the sane mind my excuse is illogical. Once you climb on, you have yielded control of your situation. You are letting the driver, which is never you, have complete control. When the coaster is run by my 11 year old I need to remember that I can climb into the drivers seat and put on the brakes on it. God is in control not the roller coaster operator.
Instead of getting on the coaster you are to run from it, avoiding it at all costs. My wellness is critical for my family's sake. This last sentence was not reality for me last week. Last week I rode the coaster daily and was in constant state of dizziness. I wasn't contributing to my recovery, but instead was making the roller coaster more tantalizing of a choice.
I have the choice NOT to get on that coaster. When I emotionally detach from the situation at hand, no matter how crazy, I can be a better mom to my children, a better wife to my husband, a better friend and most importantly a better child of God. When I focus on God and ask Him for guidance about the situation that the coaster is weaving into, then God is in control of the coaster. Wether the coaster is spiralling into someone's depression,or climbing rapidly into a heated argument, or all out mania, I can choose to ignore it. I can choose to "change the dance" by not climbing aboard. If I have the urge to ride a roller coaster I need to go to Six Flags. Those coasters are definetly more fun.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
How not to eat chocolate
http://www.instructables.com/id/Chocolate-Covered-Squid---Valentine-s-Day-Candy-Fr/
Okay a friend of mine gave me this recipe, knowing how much I love chocolate. This has got to be the nastiest way to cook using chocolate ever. A close second would be chocolate covered grasshoppers. This recipe is from the same person who eats chocolate covered bacon, but at least both of those things are yummy on their own. Squid and chocolate do not go together!!! Do you hear me Darren?
They look like they are fake when covered in chocolate but I can imagine the feel of the slimy rubbery squid as it slides down my throat and I want to puke. I love chocolate but this is one recipe that gets a huge thumb down for me. I do not enjoy calamari, which is at least fried, why in the world would I want to try this. And then he tells me it is spicy too. So throw in the chili powder to hide the taste of the squid or squelch the taste of the chocolate, which by the way was already ruined with the fishy squid flavor.
When I was in high school my teacher gave us chocolate bars that were really chocolate covered ants and chocolate covered spiders. It really didn't taste all that bad, but when I bite into my chocolate bar I do not want a crunchy spider leg to poke out. Once I saw that it ruined the chocolate taste and made my stomach turn inside out. Don't get me wrong I love chocolate, but somethings need to stay far away from the chocolate. Squid and chocolate should not even be in the same sentence nevermind the same pot.
Okay a friend of mine gave me this recipe, knowing how much I love chocolate. This has got to be the nastiest way to cook using chocolate ever. A close second would be chocolate covered grasshoppers. This recipe is from the same person who eats chocolate covered bacon, but at least both of those things are yummy on their own. Squid and chocolate do not go together!!! Do you hear me Darren?
They look like they are fake when covered in chocolate but I can imagine the feel of the slimy rubbery squid as it slides down my throat and I want to puke. I love chocolate but this is one recipe that gets a huge thumb down for me. I do not enjoy calamari, which is at least fried, why in the world would I want to try this. And then he tells me it is spicy too. So throw in the chili powder to hide the taste of the squid or squelch the taste of the chocolate, which by the way was already ruined with the fishy squid flavor.
When I was in high school my teacher gave us chocolate bars that were really chocolate covered ants and chocolate covered spiders. It really didn't taste all that bad, but when I bite into my chocolate bar I do not want a crunchy spider leg to poke out. Once I saw that it ruined the chocolate taste and made my stomach turn inside out. Don't get me wrong I love chocolate, but somethings need to stay far away from the chocolate. Squid and chocolate should not even be in the same sentence nevermind the same pot.
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