Take Stock

My flatmate spent a day boiling a ham bone to make stock.

Now everything I own and eat tastes of bolied ham bone.

Have you any idea how gross it is to bite into a thick white slice of toasted white bread, coated with the final scrapes of your beloved peanut butter at 7.30am, when you've no milk, no cereal, nothing but the final slices of all the food you own in the world, on a day when the next meal is hours away and you're late and starving, just to have a wince chase across your face, a gag reaction to well from your stomach and to have all your taste buds tell you to fuck off simultaneously as you realise with abject horror that the toast you are eating has been irradiated with the stench of the boiled carcass of a devoured pig?

It's pretty fricking gross.