thing is - and hear me out - if s3 does by any minute chance incorporate any suggestion of a sex scene, it is imperative for me that they commit to the bit. i need crowley to nearly topple over trying to get out of his jeans, i need aziraphale to complain that they cant do anything downstairs because that would be scandalous, and i need them to trip over going up the stairs because they keep getting distracted. i need one of them to accidentally get an elbow to the face, i need them to have a long forgotten book digging into one of their backs, and aziraphale is horrified when crowley launches it across the room, and i need there to be hard cut to whickber street having a huge power surge, lines sparking, all the power going out, and every car alarm in a 2-mile radius start screaming, i don’t need it to be explicit or overly romantic but i do need it to be fucking funny
So many people marry people they don’t like hanging out with.
When they say to marry your best friend they’re talking about that you need to like hanging out with them. You should probably like just hanging out with the person you’ve committed your life to. Because that’s what you’ll be doing most of the time.
In most romantic relationships the sex and longingly staring into each others eyes part is a relatively small portion of it. Most of your time is gonna be reading the newspaper in silence or cooking dinner or trying and failing to do a book club with your friends.
You ever look at the big shawarma in kebab shops and just want to ask them to give it to you. I want the King Meat. I want the big dinosaur drumstick. I want hold my mouth up and use my teeth to peel it as it spins.
When I was like 18 I worked for a gyro place for a few years and was good friends with managers, important later. We had 3 of the machines that spin and cook/ heat the gyros, it’s important to mention that our gyros came precooked but frozen and the machines only really cooked a few inches in at a time, you could only really get 2 or 3 shavings in before it got cold and mushy.
I don’t remeber the circumstances leading up to it but there was 1 full hunk of gyro, the thing weighed to 25 - 30 lbs of pure meat, just spinning. We couldn’t sell it, couldn’t throw it out, couldn’t take it home, it was just there cooking away. At some point during the day I was left alone, never a good thing I will cause chaos when an opportunity arises. I KNEW this thing was going in the trash at the end of the day and that I was good enough with the managers to not get into to much trouble.
When enough time by myself passed I did it. I put my apron up to my chin, lowered the temperature on the machines and started digging in. I turned my head to the side and started ripping into this hunk of meat. I felt like a shark, I wasn’t chewing, I wasn’t tasting I just went. There was oil all over my face it, i could feel my cheeks press against the more rounded bits of the gyro, there was gyro just everywhere it was a mess. I got maybe 6 or 7 bites in before I heard the back door open and I ran to the bathroom to hide and hopefully enjoy the sensation I’ve just allowed myself.
I slam the door shut, back pressed against the wall and I hear my manager, normally a loud and fun guy who is trying to get through the rest of the day like the rest of us, very quietly, destroyed even, say to himself ‘what the fuck’. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it’s so horrible it’s hilarious. My apron and shirt are drenched in oil, I have gyro meat in my hair, I can feel the pimples on my face forming as the oil just gets absorbed by my decision, my cheeks are so full of gyro that I look like a hamster, absolutely stuffed.
I try to actually start chewing on my newly acquired lunch and at first it’s good, great even!! The gyro was nice and hot, some parts even crispy, the flavor was amazing. Something about cavemaning a full thing of meat really does enhance the flavor of it. But as I started to enjoy it more it got worse. Some of the bites I had taken, in my overzealous of giving in to the intrusive thoughts and not wanted to get caught, I bit into parts that hadn’t been cooked yet. What crispy and flavorful food turned into cold mush, not unlike playdoh, in only a few bites. I ended up spitting everything out and trying not to throw up.
After a few minutes hiding I come out, face washed, gyro removed from wherever it decided it wanted to be in the aftermath and apron tossed in the trash wrapped in a burial dress of paper towels to hide the smell. I see my manager just staring at the slowly spinning gyro, one side untouched as if nothing happened, the other absolutely decimated. Full mouthfuls gone, strips of meat hanging off the sides of dents I had put in, there was one that was just teeth imprints from where I thought I was going to get caught and didn’t finish the bite. I walk up to my manager, he doesn’t look at me, eyes dead set on the meat just carouselling in it’s warmer. We spend maybe 30 seconds looking at it together, him probably wondering why I smell so strongly of gyro even though I don’t even like it, me wondering if he’s going to catch on to the fact that I did this and have no defense for myself other then ’ I saved you the other half’. During my managers mourning of this gyro we couldn’t even sell I clocked out and went home, this event never spoken of again.
This story feels biblical to me. In every way. This could be a new religion.
