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A Dirty Love Letter to Dirty Chinese Food

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Dear Dirty Chinese Food,

 

I want you. There, I said it. I want you so bad it hurts.

I thought I was done. Done with this. Done with you.

 

I said I was going to clean up my life, make something of myself.

 

Maybe find somewhere with a nice A-health rating, somewhere that’d treat me the way I deserve.

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But somehow I just can’t stay away.

So here I am, just like we both knew I’d be. And guess what?

This time, I’m gonna f—king enjoy it.

I’m gonna have you shamelessly, openly, relentlessly.

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I want you everywhere, all the time.

 

Not in some nice, farm-to-table, pseudo-fusion-gastropub, though, no. I want you on the loading dock in a back alley in Chinatown. I want you in front of the fish tank next to a giant Buddha statue.

 

I want to see the stains on the linoleum floor as I suck out all the juices from between your trembling chicken feet toes.

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I want you spread out over a hot, steaming bed of noodles.

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Or when you’re feeling vulnerable and shy.

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And you know how crazy I get when you’re wet.

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Which, by the way . . .

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Is.

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All.

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The.

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F—king.

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Time.

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God, you’re disgusting, Chinese food.

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And I wish I knew how to quit you.

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I could have so much better.

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And we both know how this is going to end.

But tonight . . . tonight none of that matters.

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Just get inside me already.

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Sincerely,

 

Me

Picthx authentic chinese

By Dominique Zamora

Dominique would be a foodie if she had money to pay for food. For now, she gets by just looking at food photography, which results in at least one more starving journalism student every time Instagram breaks down.

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