recipe..grilled chicken mmm

This is a good recipe a friend of mine sent me from south carolina...will try it out this friday

 

ONE POX, Ch. 1 Cont.

I'm standing outside of my house in the middle of the street looking up at the sky. It is clear except for a few thin and bandy cirrus clouds. Other than the smell of dead people in the air this could have been a lovely fall day. I'm trying to figure out what the weather might do in the following week. I seem to remember that cirrus clouds are an indicator of a high pressure system. I decide it's a futile task, born more out of a desire for normalcy than an honest attempt at divining the weather. I look back down to a sight that is mildly surprising at first but quickly starts to give me the willies. There are tens of cats on the street. They're sitting, walking, standing or lying down and most of them are looking at me. They weren't there when I came out just two minutes ago. An animalistic urge makes me turn to look behind me. There are cats on that side of the street too, lots of them. They go all the way up the hill to where the road dips down and I can't see it any more. I go back into my house and look at them through the window hoping they'll go away. I'm glad it's cool out and it's comfortable in my house.
I'm siting in my living room wondering where I'm going to get a motorcycle. There is still some afternoon light coming over the trees across the street and in through the windows. The roads are mostly clogged with cars, barriers and other things so I figure I have to use a bike to get around, preferably some sort of dirt bike. Once I make it out of the city, maybe further out on 290, I can find a truck. I decide to look in the phone book for motorcycle dealerships. As I find a couple of places not too far from my house I notice the food in the fridge is starting to stink. I pick up the phone, pause and laugh. My laughter sounds way too loud and it comes out forced at the end. The echo of it in my mind gives me a shuddering sense of loss and despair but I shake it off. After a quick look outside the window at the two remaining cats I start rumaging around my house for a map of Austin. It's starting to get dark and my flashlight is running out of batteries. I decide to brave a quick walk to the neighboring stores, and if I don't find what I need, maybe in a few houses. "You're alone in the world," I think trying to pump myself up for the mini-expedition. Somehow the thought doesn't comfort me it all. It makes me think of the dogs. I've been hearing them now and again, especially at night. The terrible sounds they make give me the distinct impression that they have taken to forming packs and fighting savage battles for status and control. There is no doubt in my mind they will attack me on sight. I don't have any weapons in my house and I doubt I'll find any in my neighbor's houses. The fear of the dogs and simple curiosity about my neighbor's lives convince me to check the houses anyway. I'm bent over with my hands on my knees outside the second house I tried to go into, gaging and cursing people for dying in their own homes. I curse again and head back home in the failing light empty handed and feeling dejected. I pretty much wasted this whole day. The feeling is replaced by a sense of urgency. My nieces or nephews might be alive in Juarez.

ONE POX

Chapter 1 - A beginning from the end.

The people who worked at the JacksonWright laboratories were not bad people. They didn't mean to release the virus or even to create it really. They were trying to do something good for humanity, a cure for cancer I believe. The details of their project or its intended use were not released to the media in time. Not that it matters to anyone. Maybe the story will be rediscovered, somehow salvaged from the ruins by future archeologists and historians. It took the pox a total of 25 days to destroy all of human civilization, give or take a few. In the first five days after it became widely known that it had a near 100% death rate and it was spreading alarmingly fast, scenes of chaos and panic were a regular feature on the news. Five days after that, leaders across the globe started fighting skirmishes. It wasn't much longer before all-out war broke out. Nothing stemmed the infection though, and soldiers in their bio-suits died at exactly the same rate as the rest of the population; higher if you count combat casualties. To humanity's credit, once it became clear that this was a world wide calamity, most governments stopped their pointless conflicts and came together to try to find a cure. As far as I know, they failed and now I'm alone. I haven't met another human being in the nine months since.

It is the morning of November 10, exactly 25 days after the outbreak. I'm kneeling in my backyard scared for my life and crying for my little girl and my wife. There are two mounds of dirt surrounded by dead weeds where I buried them. It's not just the horrible pain of the disease that scares me, I also have this irrational fear of people coming by and killing me for no good reason. I have nightmares about it. My wife has been dead for two weeks. My baby fought it. She fought it like a trooper, God bless her. The syrupy grief to see her laughing and running even with the pox growing steadily on her back was too much for me; I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. My body had not been content to shed just tears then. She's dead now like the rest of the world. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm thinking I'll go to Juarez to look for my family. I'm standing up and drying my tears with the back of my fingers; don't want to get my face dirty now do I? The silence is unnatural. There isn't even a little breeze to rattle the last of the dead leaves on the trees. "This is good," my cerebellum broadcasts "this way I can hear them coming." I'm thinking some in my family might have survived like me. I'm beginning to accept the fact that I am immune to the pox. Maybe some of them have the same genes. Every memeber of my family here in Austin is dead. I know that. I also know that some in Juarez died, but mass communications failed before I knew about all of them. My mind is made. I start to plan.

Top 10 things that I like worrying about.

Top 10 things that I like worrying about:

10. Aliens invading Earth.
9. Zombies attacking my neighborhood.
8. Democracy is a sham. The elites will forever control the masses.
7. Huge asteroid throwing civilization into chaos.
6. Three guys following me home after a road rage incident.
5. Astoundingly stealthy man creeping into the house and stealing Sammy into the night.
4. Global warming brings on a premature ice age. People are forced to immigrate to the tropics.
3. Having to defend my family from drug addicted robbers.
2. The Yellowstone super volcano erupts causing panic and looting at all the Wal Marts.
1. Superflu killing off 99.999% of Earth's human populations.

Lion

I am what is depressing about a lion. Do you really want me to spell it out? No, you don’t. Please focus on the lightly stuck out tongue, panting; on the brown scar down the bridge of the nose. This will get you closer to the analogy I am trying to convey. The shimmering, heated air masks the falseness of my bravery. Yet I pump my spirit with adrenaline out of sheer necessity. My pride is thin but beautiful. I would protect it against hyenas.

File this one under 'innuendo'.

Oh yeah; I'm going to write this text so hard you'll be able to smell it.
And then I'm going to post it; yeah baby, I'm going to post it like there's no tomorrow.
I'm going to post it so good that you'll wish I could post it over and over; that's right.

Revisando como se hace esto

tomemos vino, las conversaciones fluyen mejor lubricadas!
-Marques de Sade.