Vodka Omelet Make it clear in my mind, Jesus, am I whacked-out on Double Cross Vodka or have I flipped out calling myself Limburger omelet chef? I hate question marks and angels with crazed wings. You know the type, John the Baptist toking weed, stoned out of his mind, storyteller, foul smells from poor hygiene, eating habits open mouth, swallowing grasshoppers, so silky, smooth as sweet honey. Add 3 eggs in a skillet, Parmesan/Romano blend, 2 cheeses add-on, shiitake mushrooms, turmeric, chopped kale, hint hot chili peppers, cheers. Scramble me, I’m cracked. I rock faith in jungle music, dance nude. Everything is a potential poem to me. My omelette, my life, my booze, master cook, vodka omelet 2:38 a.m.