He's going to jail for life. Nine times over.
I know they have real food in prison, but for some reason, I'm picturing him piteously holding up his bowl, begging for gruel.
Of course, he's a psychopath, not an adorable British orphan, so the resulting institutional outrage will be completely justified. Beg away, Mr. Stuff-your-roomates-in-the-garbage.
No more for you.
I, on the other hand, will be having a lot more of this in my bowl.
It's my take on Joy the Baker's version of the made-famous-by-Kobe-Bryant miracle broth. Now that I'm crawling back onto the eating right bandwagon, having a steaming mug of this in the afternoons has been all kinds of comforting.
Almost as comforting as finally seeing justice done.*
