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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
One inch of cold milk, one bwip of Fox’s U-Bet Chocolate Syrup, seltzer to the top, stir, stir, stir.
There are two kinds of activities in the world: The things you want to do (such as drawing designs on your lover’s body with high quality chocolate in preparation for impending ravishment), and everything else, the latter being pretty much a waste of your far too finite life.
My kingdom for something chocolate.
You learn something new every day if you hang around Scrine.
I am happy to report, for the benefit of all those who undernourished, rail-thin types who can’t gain weight no matter what they eat, I have discovered The Holy Grail of weight gain—Mona Loa Macadamia Nut Chocolate Bars—four days, four 1.7oz (50gram) bars and I’ve gained five pounds!
Even though it contains pecans, chocolate, espresso, eggs and even a bit of butter, it is still much lower in fat than the average pecan-chocolate-espresso-egg-butter dessert; even though it is of a reduced fat content, it is so luscious in the mouth that you would cry, if only you weren’t so busy smiling.
I once freed a woman from a solemn vow of marriage in exchange for a batch of chocolate chip meringue cookies.
I’m in the menstrual part of the menstrual cycle and have a not so unusual hankering for chocolate (but not just any chocolate, it must be a crunchie, thanks to Scrine), meat pie (even I don’t know where that one came from, perhaps the smell wafted past as I walked), chick flicks (yes, a sad place to be indeed, but the hormones are a mess and I seem to be able to appreciate them in this state) and someone to just curl up with when I go to bed.
Sometimes even a handful of chocolate-covered espresso beans won’t overcome the the need for an afternoon nap; they will, however, lead to vivid dreams.
It’s important to pick up all the candy wrappers from the coffee table not just to keep the place clean, but also so it won’t be quite so obvious that you ate quite so many of your wife’s chocolates while she wasn’t home.
There is no situation that cannot be improved with chocolate, Christine concluded.
“Daaaad, not chocolate for dinner again!”
Chocolate had replaced tobacco as her substance of choice for changing passive self-reproach into action.
Yes, you could easily eat them all at once, but isn’t it fun to eke them out, savouring just one or two a day, preserving that special violet delight until the desire becomes unbearable.
Boxes of chocolate would not contain elaborate diagrams that flag each and every piece; we would have just two labels for chocolates: “Edible” and “Chocolate-Covered Cherries”.
Christine awoke from her dream of German chocolate cake and found a sole flake of coconut on her pillow.
Muriel snuck one Milky Way fun-sized bar with her coffee, hoping to ease her candy hangover.
Tammy woke up, not quite sure of her surroundings, but distinctly aware that she had done something very bad the previous night…what little she remembered had to do with tryptophan, and mass quantities of pumpkin and chocolate.
Juan looked at the fragrant pears, the juicy oranges, the liquid-sunshine tangerines, the preserved mangos, the pistachios and the dried apples and thought, gosh, what I really want is a chocolate bar.
Carob is an evil mistress with her ambiguous promise of “tastes like chocolate” until she offers you a blighted kiss that speaks more, “tastes like chicken” then it does of sweet, languid duress.
In my mind, I’ve eaten three Twix bars, sideways (carmel side first), and I wish this would appease today’s appetite for mediocre candy but it probably won’t.
Tammy wondered why she was eating so much chocolate and realized it was just because of that big old vd.
Although I wanted the satisfaction of the forceful arterial spray on the back of my throat as my jaws rend the tender flesh of the students who failed to complete their homework which was just to THINK, I bit into a Snickers instead and indeed am sated….for now.
Sometimes, it’s about a big ol’ chair, sometimes a giant mug of hot chocolate, but sometimes nothing matches the company of good friends.
“I don’t really eat chocolate at all and rarely eat cookies.”
If only someone had introduced my child self to jelly-center chocolates with the lillypilly-flavored ones, maybe I wouldn’t have hated jelly centers so much, and thus would not have been compelled to hide half-eaten chocolates under the sofa cushions.
Some of us (you know who you are) have access to doctors and psychiatrists and designer drugs; some of us have to self-medicate with chocolate.
Thank god that California, being the liberal state that it is, has passed one of the nation’s first Medical Chocolate Laws.
My local pusher has a the inside track on several kilos of just-past-expiration-date Starbucks truffles and this weekend I’m meeting with him at an undisclosed location for a no-questions-asked cash transaction.
There were towers of marbled marzipan, with floors of tiled liquorice, couches of rich, dark chocolate, and, sweetly, there was a hint of peppermint in the air.
A guaranteed way to ensure you get veritable sacks of chocolate, is to plead with relatives and friends to not give you chocolate at all.
I know in my mind that chocolate-chip cookies are not the solution, by my heart craves the temporary relief they offer.
The fact that chocolate lately gives me no special joy must indicate either that I'm extremely depressed or not depressed at all.
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