Did I tell you I'm like, a cooking genius now? (read: can fry rice)
The missus and I purchased, several weeks ago, a big fuck-off bag of rice. While she's claimed sole dominion over the actual cooking of the rice, some abtruse thaumaturgy involving boiled water and the roast eyes of newts, I've been painstakingly instructed, a la Luke Skywalker on Dagobah, in the delicate art of frying said rice.
But, exactly like Skywalker, I've run off to Bespin or some such place before I've finished my training.
Subsequently, my rice takes sorta like balls. Ball-ish, if you will.
I suspect Ben Kenobi's ghost. Insubstantial fucker.
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