I went to my friend James’ house where I ate some fried chicken. His father made it for us. Since his mom had passed, James’ father was doing all the cooking, and I couldn’t help but remember the taste of my own sister’s cooking. I’d missed Pam so deeply since my mother kicked her out the house. James and I shared many secrets, mainly about the comic books we knew were getting for Christmas and Hanukkah. I loved James, but he never knew.
Clara
Fried Things get so oily.
Leo
Chicken and cheese cannot be eaten together. In the case that they are consumed conjoined, please call you local poison control unit. Hopefully, for your case, they will be attractive young fireman ready to hold you and make you puke.
Kate
The deep fryer fizzed and bubbled… but a little too much. Thank God I was wearing work gloves, or that sizzling heap of grease would have melted the skin off of my bones. Still, it doesn’t account for the fact that my now molten grease-covered gloves were really freaking hot, probably causing my hands to mildly burn underneath… it could always be worse.
Kyle Harding
And all I’ve seen, and all I’ve heard, and all I’ve felt, I had to feel it all once more. Before the machines began to ignite me. Before my blood pumped no more. Before it was oil. Before I was metal. Before I had gone and no one noticed anything but the smile that made them laugh. Not the ghost that struggled for 23 years.
I look up at the sky, and look around me.
In one word,
We are all
Fried.
By the sun,
By the world,
By the Man,
By our friends,
Fried.
Hello, potato.
Alaire
untying these binding minds that throw out into the blinding night to find another to entwine into this mess we call our lives
Samquenton
I like fries. I get fried when someone uninteresting talks to me about irrelevant stuff. I like fried daal. I do not like a lot of fried food. I want to fry someones head when I feel irritated. I want fry daal now. right now!!!!
Tanay Mandowara
she love fried foods. she loved making them and eating them too. fried fried fried she loves fried food.
daisey
Food, friends, and a good time. Sounds like fun to me. Celebrate life, have a wonderful chat. Nothing could be better than that. Don’t think too hard, don’t miss too much. Live, laugh, love, right? Right. (:
Morgs
Went to Burger King for the first time in my life today, didn’t order anything, just supervised a bunch of mangy jr high kids. Not the best smell though, I don’t find that sort of thing appealing. Also, meeting people who are normally cocky and rude, but turn out to be vulnerable and kind. There is more to every story friends.
I’m so fucking hungry right now all i can think about is eating fried stuff. But damn I just did a workout last night and sweated my butt off.
I’m totally looking to get fit. Fast. Gonna purchase the insanity workout dvd soon.
And.. what does this has to do with fried? today’s word is so weird. pfft.
michelle shwe
food. the epitome of city culture and fast food. going out to lunch, and ending with a soaking napkin. brown. it doesn’t matter what’s underneath the golden brown, as long as it’s crispy.
Joy
i had fried (buffalo) chicken today for the first time in years. i’ve been on weight watchers for months, and for once i decided to go against it and eat something that i actually crave…and eat all of my platter! of course, when i had sushi and seaweed salad a couple of hours later that’s when it hit me…weight watchers knows what it’s talking about. I felt like crap-pola.
Dolly
chicken. my aunt theda’s fried chicken was second only to my great aunt lola’s fried chicken. No one has been able to duplicate it. No commercial fried chicken approaches it. I remember watching aunt theda, beautiful aunt theda, worrying over the stove in the summer heat before we had air conditioning, her black hair framing her white skin with damp curls. She would stab a long cooking fork into a breast or a drumstick and turn the meat over in the deep hot fat to reveal a beautiful golden brown crust. Once that showed, it was my signal to begin ricing the potatoes. You don’t see ricers much anymore — a perforated metal basket set in the bottom of two long pincer handles, the top hung with a disk to fit perfectly into the basket. Apply pressure and the boiled potatoes within would extrude from metal basket to ceramic bowl, waiting for the application of salt, milk and butter in perfect combination. When the chicken was done, it came to the table with pan gravy made from the chicken drippings, milk and flour, masked potatoes and green peas. What a meal! What a memory. Good Lord she was a great cook.
derrellyn
My legs. My arms. And everywhere else that my swimsuit did not cover. Of course, that’s what happens when you have English blood and bad memory. Next time, don’t forget the sunscreen.
fried…. my brain looks fried on the outside, but the inside contains a wealth of information. maybe it’s because I like my eggs fried. Just not my hair. That is definitely one thing I don’t like to be fried. Not that it matters, I’ve been single since 2008
anna hudson
i love eating fried chicken and fried pickles they are so delicious
have you ever had fried things??
if you haven’t you really should they are simply amazing!!!
so that is about the word fried
FRENCH FRIE
Crispy and fried? Atta boy. Serve the gravy hot and brown onto that meaty mess. Why is it that it’s usually brown, but it’s called “gravy?” It sounds like the word gray is in it.
Maybe I’m overthinking this. You’ve made me such a fine dinner, and it’d be a shame to talk too much. Tasty chicken.
Belinda Roddie
Fried foods are cool. But they really aren’t cool because they could clog your arteries. And then you could die. They will increase your cholesterol levels. And then you could die. They will make you fart. You may not die from farting but stranger things have happened. But I must admit, I love fried chicken.
Jasmine T
fried? i misread that as friend. fried reminds me of youthful innocense. childhood is loaded with fries and youth and carefree feelings and bang bang. when i was young we used to go to a mcdonalds that had a platfrm we called the bang bang. we used to slap it and colors and nocese would explode from it. it was magical. we’d eat mcdonalds frid foods and slap the bang bang and my computer just exuded a bang noise and it was scary so bye
. d
FRIED
bacon
eggs
chicken
hashbrowns
a lot of my favorite foods are fried, in fact, all my favorite foods are fried.
I lingered into the kitchen, sticky with sweat from a late summer solstice. I leaned on the cold tiles of the island stove, my biceps erupting with goosebumps. Fried green tomatoes. A taste of home, holiday; a taste of West Virginia. No amount of pepto bismol would suffice the pleasuble stomache-ache that was about to come.
Fried. Like chicken and brain cells. Like overly straightened hair and fries. Chips and crips and other delicious morsels of fatty goodness. Say hello to American cuisine becasue it’s looking you right in the face.
Duncan
Fried. There was no other word to describe how his brain felt as he laid on the cold, metal table, with doctors probing and prodding him. The drugs had gone through on their part of the bargain, but his body had not done its part. If it had, he’d be dead. Dead, instead of just fried.
“How would you like your eggs?” The waitress smiled at me as I sat at the counter of the quaint fifties-esque diner, the only kind that would be open at a time like this, or even serve someone looking like I did.
“Fried would be preferred,” I snapped.
She glared, and wrote something on her notepad, then turned. Oops.
I sighed. I’d managed to mess up, again. She’ll definitely be receiving a hefty tip.
fried deep fat the things you can fry bacon potatoes
brains
his brains were fried. he took too many drugs. it was so sad, in retrospect. but at the time, it seemed funny. how differently we look at things when we become old.
Gosh darn it I could really go for some greasy, fried food. I really want to order pizza from Milano’s!!!!!! TTonight has been fun!!!! I love my friends and I am so glad to be back with them. Seriously, I need dinner!
Theresa
The woman, one of his aunts maybe, slapped fried chicken onto his plate. A grimace flashed across his face and dissipated. His family refused to accept that he was a vegetarian. Or that he was an atheist. So here he was at a family reunion, pretending to smile and to like chicken, after having endured an hour of a vindictive church service. As a boy, those words had meant something, but now, he had grown up and away from what had once seemed so solid, so true. The world was water beneath his feet, sucking him beneath its crashing waves.
Chicken, people, food. K- fry (ied). Alive. Chinese man trying to pronounce fly.
Wallawalltingting
I had fried chicken a while ago, but it’s been a while, since I’ve been vegetarian for a few months now. Sometimes I miss it’s greasiness, but not usually. I’ve been recently trying to see how little I have to eat as entertainment and trying to stick to a more healthy ideal of diet. No fried foods, for sure, though I did just have ice cream, which was good; I guess that’s how you fall off the wagon.
Milo Fultz
chicken is so great kfc kentucky fried chicken it is so good finger licken good spongebob is a fry cook he lived under the sea and he lived in a pineapple and worked for mr krabs and bffs with patrick
Mikaela
Fried chicken. Fried hotdogs. Fried hostesses. Images of repulsive, all-American foods enter my head as I glance upon this word. It makes me recall the obesity epidemic in America–sweeping the nation with a sword of blubber. For the first time in EVER, children now have a shorter
Mary Liu
There really wasn’t time to argue with a half Ukranian man over the type of batter. He would just have to not focus on it. Breaded did not mean fried but it would be alright. He wouldn’t need to make the run to the toilet. It was probably healthy oils anyway, a little fat to beef him up. Nothing worth sending back.
DMM
There are people that just want to hold you. I can tell. I want it more, though. I want to hold that skin, wrap it up, all toasty and hot. I want to take care, be smarter, be a better person.
Maybe my hands are just a little to cold to touch.
Melicia wrote her name in the fried soup. The egg noodles floated around the yellow broth. She took one look at the wok-cooked meal and sighed. The chefs messed up – again. The broth was YELLOW, not clear, like it was supposed to be. She would have to bring this to the manager – she knew Davey wouldn’t stand for it. She knew the oil the dish was fried in was bad. It was sour and icky. She couldn’t stop eating it, though. Davey would have to wait.
Clock in on time,
Then grab that plate,
– Oh! Two in line
For lunch? Please wait
I’ll be right back –
Bring menus, drinks.
Don’t pause for breath;
Don’t stop to think
Just see to do,
And do with haste
– How’s everything? –
No time to waste.
Eyes opened all,
Walk with false pride,
No wonder now
My brain is fried.
When I first saw this word I thought it said “friend.” Funny, how one letter can change the entire meaning of a word. One means someone you love, and the other is something you do to food when you want to get fat. I don’t want to get fat. I think I’ll just stick to friends. I won’t eat them, though.
Cree
Stan receives his order from the kind lady from the back, she has brown eyes and black hair encased in a net. “Thank you” he replies, she gives him a slight smile and walks to the back to tend to the others. Grabbing the tray, he walks to an empty booth that is in between a few high school students and a couple feeding their 3 year old son. He takes a seat and starts to feast, he chews his food effectively and swallows. The couple behind him start to get loud and end up spilling their drink on the 3 year old, erupting into a high pitched wale, but Stan is not effected. He reaches into his container and pulls out a 2 french fries and chomps on it, his chewing slows until it comes to a halt, his eyes widen and his mouth drops as you see a viscous liquid emerge from it. He’s in shock and about to blow chunks, he slowly gets up trying not to startle his own gag reflexes. He covers his mouth and starts to walk very slowly towards the bathroom. The high school students stare at him judging his every movement, until he can’t hold it in any longer. He turns to the students and projectile vomits through his fingers, pelleting them with chunks of food Chinese takeout from the night before. The yellowish green ting drips off of their baffled faces. Stan wipes his mouth, and runs.
I went to my friend James’ house where I ate some fried chicken. His father made it for us. Since his mom had passed, James’ father was doing all the cooking, and I couldn’t help but remember the taste of my own sister’s cooking. I’d missed Pam so deeply since my mother kicked her out the house. James and I shared many secrets, mainly about the comic books we knew were getting for Christmas and Hanukkah. I loved James, but he never knew.
Fried Things get so oily.
Chicken and cheese cannot be eaten together. In the case that they are consumed conjoined, please call you local poison control unit. Hopefully, for your case, they will be attractive young fireman ready to hold you and make you puke.
The deep fryer fizzed and bubbled… but a little too much. Thank God I was wearing work gloves, or that sizzling heap of grease would have melted the skin off of my bones. Still, it doesn’t account for the fact that my now molten grease-covered gloves were really freaking hot, probably causing my hands to mildly burn underneath… it could always be worse.
And all I’ve seen, and all I’ve heard, and all I’ve felt, I had to feel it all once more. Before the machines began to ignite me. Before my blood pumped no more. Before it was oil. Before I was metal. Before I had gone and no one noticed anything but the smile that made them laugh. Not the ghost that struggled for 23 years.
I look up at the sky, and look around me.
In one word,
We are all
Fried.
By the sun,
By the world,
By the Man,
By our friends,
Fried.
Hello, potato.
untying these binding minds that throw out into the blinding night to find another to entwine into this mess we call our lives
I like fries. I get fried when someone uninteresting talks to me about irrelevant stuff. I like fried daal. I do not like a lot of fried food. I want to fry someones head when I feel irritated. I want fry daal now. right now!!!!
she love fried foods. she loved making them and eating them too. fried fried fried she loves fried food.
Food, friends, and a good time. Sounds like fun to me. Celebrate life, have a wonderful chat. Nothing could be better than that. Don’t think too hard, don’t miss too much. Live, laugh, love, right? Right. (:
Went to Burger King for the first time in my life today, didn’t order anything, just supervised a bunch of mangy jr high kids. Not the best smell though, I don’t find that sort of thing appealing. Also, meeting people who are normally cocky and rude, but turn out to be vulnerable and kind. There is more to every story friends.
I’m so fucking hungry right now all i can think about is eating fried stuff. But damn I just did a workout last night and sweated my butt off.
I’m totally looking to get fit. Fast. Gonna purchase the insanity workout dvd soon.
And.. what does this has to do with fried? today’s word is so weird. pfft.
food. the epitome of city culture and fast food. going out to lunch, and ending with a soaking napkin. brown. it doesn’t matter what’s underneath the golden brown, as long as it’s crispy.
i had fried (buffalo) chicken today for the first time in years. i’ve been on weight watchers for months, and for once i decided to go against it and eat something that i actually crave…and eat all of my platter! of course, when i had sushi and seaweed salad a couple of hours later that’s when it hit me…weight watchers knows what it’s talking about. I felt like crap-pola.
chicken. my aunt theda’s fried chicken was second only to my great aunt lola’s fried chicken. No one has been able to duplicate it. No commercial fried chicken approaches it. I remember watching aunt theda, beautiful aunt theda, worrying over the stove in the summer heat before we had air conditioning, her black hair framing her white skin with damp curls. She would stab a long cooking fork into a breast or a drumstick and turn the meat over in the deep hot fat to reveal a beautiful golden brown crust. Once that showed, it was my signal to begin ricing the potatoes. You don’t see ricers much anymore — a perforated metal basket set in the bottom of two long pincer handles, the top hung with a disk to fit perfectly into the basket. Apply pressure and the boiled potatoes within would extrude from metal basket to ceramic bowl, waiting for the application of salt, milk and butter in perfect combination. When the chicken was done, it came to the table with pan gravy made from the chicken drippings, milk and flour, masked potatoes and green peas. What a meal! What a memory. Good Lord she was a great cook.
My legs. My arms. And everywhere else that my swimsuit did not cover. Of course, that’s what happens when you have English blood and bad memory. Next time, don’t forget the sunscreen.
fried…. my brain looks fried on the outside, but the inside contains a wealth of information. maybe it’s because I like my eggs fried. Just not my hair. That is definitely one thing I don’t like to be fried. Not that it matters, I’ve been single since 2008
i love eating fried chicken and fried pickles they are so delicious
have you ever had fried things??
if you haven’t you really should they are simply amazing!!!
so that is about the word fried
Crispy and fried? Atta boy. Serve the gravy hot and brown onto that meaty mess. Why is it that it’s usually brown, but it’s called “gravy?” It sounds like the word gray is in it.
Maybe I’m overthinking this. You’ve made me such a fine dinner, and it’d be a shame to talk too much. Tasty chicken.
Fried foods are cool. But they really aren’t cool because they could clog your arteries. And then you could die. They will increase your cholesterol levels. And then you could die. They will make you fart. You may not die from farting but stranger things have happened. But I must admit, I love fried chicken.
fried? i misread that as friend. fried reminds me of youthful innocense. childhood is loaded with fries and youth and carefree feelings and bang bang. when i was young we used to go to a mcdonalds that had a platfrm we called the bang bang. we used to slap it and colors and nocese would explode from it. it was magical. we’d eat mcdonalds frid foods and slap the bang bang and my computer just exuded a bang noise and it was scary so bye
FRIED
bacon
eggs
chicken
hashbrowns
a lot of my favorite foods are fried, in fact, all my favorite foods are fried.
I lingered into the kitchen, sticky with sweat from a late summer solstice. I leaned on the cold tiles of the island stove, my biceps erupting with goosebumps. Fried green tomatoes. A taste of home, holiday; a taste of West Virginia. No amount of pepto bismol would suffice the pleasuble stomache-ache that was about to come.
Fried. Like chicken and brain cells. Like overly straightened hair and fries. Chips and crips and other delicious morsels of fatty goodness. Say hello to American cuisine becasue it’s looking you right in the face.
Fried. There was no other word to describe how his brain felt as he laid on the cold, metal table, with doctors probing and prodding him. The drugs had gone through on their part of the bargain, but his body had not done its part. If it had, he’d be dead. Dead, instead of just fried.
“How would you like your eggs?” The waitress smiled at me as I sat at the counter of the quaint fifties-esque diner, the only kind that would be open at a time like this, or even serve someone looking like I did.
“Fried would be preferred,” I snapped.
She glared, and wrote something on her notepad, then turned. Oops.
I sighed. I’d managed to mess up, again. She’ll definitely be receiving a hefty tip.
fried deep fat the things you can fry bacon potatoes
brains
his brains were fried. he took too many drugs. it was so sad, in retrospect. but at the time, it seemed funny. how differently we look at things when we become old.
Gosh darn it I could really go for some greasy, fried food. I really want to order pizza from Milano’s!!!!!! TTonight has been fun!!!! I love my friends and I am so glad to be back with them. Seriously, I need dinner!
The woman, one of his aunts maybe, slapped fried chicken onto his plate. A grimace flashed across his face and dissipated. His family refused to accept that he was a vegetarian. Or that he was an atheist. So here he was at a family reunion, pretending to smile and to like chicken, after having endured an hour of a vindictive church service. As a boy, those words had meant something, but now, he had grown up and away from what had once seemed so solid, so true. The world was water beneath his feet, sucking him beneath its crashing waves.
Chicken, people, food. K- fry (ied). Alive. Chinese man trying to pronounce fly.
I had fried chicken a while ago, but it’s been a while, since I’ve been vegetarian for a few months now. Sometimes I miss it’s greasiness, but not usually. I’ve been recently trying to see how little I have to eat as entertainment and trying to stick to a more healthy ideal of diet. No fried foods, for sure, though I did just have ice cream, which was good; I guess that’s how you fall off the wagon.
chicken is so great kfc kentucky fried chicken it is so good finger licken good spongebob is a fry cook he lived under the sea and he lived in a pineapple and worked for mr krabs and bffs with patrick
Fried chicken. Fried hotdogs. Fried hostesses. Images of repulsive, all-American foods enter my head as I glance upon this word. It makes me recall the obesity epidemic in America–sweeping the nation with a sword of blubber. For the first time in EVER, children now have a shorter
There really wasn’t time to argue with a half Ukranian man over the type of batter. He would just have to not focus on it. Breaded did not mean fried but it would be alright. He wouldn’t need to make the run to the toilet. It was probably healthy oils anyway, a little fat to beef him up. Nothing worth sending back.
There are people that just want to hold you. I can tell. I want it more, though. I want to hold that skin, wrap it up, all toasty and hot. I want to take care, be smarter, be a better person.
Maybe my hands are just a little to cold to touch.
Melicia wrote her name in the fried soup. The egg noodles floated around the yellow broth. She took one look at the wok-cooked meal and sighed. The chefs messed up – again. The broth was YELLOW, not clear, like it was supposed to be. She would have to bring this to the manager – she knew Davey wouldn’t stand for it. She knew the oil the dish was fried in was bad. It was sour and icky. She couldn’t stop eating it, though. Davey would have to wait.
Neurological treason,
functions fried behind watering eyes,
unable to unveil why.
Clock in on time,
Then grab that plate,
– Oh! Two in line
For lunch? Please wait
I’ll be right back –
Bring menus, drinks.
Don’t pause for breath;
Don’t stop to think
Just see to do,
And do with haste
– How’s everything? –
No time to waste.
Eyes opened all,
Walk with false pride,
No wonder now
My brain is fried.
When I first saw this word I thought it said “friend.” Funny, how one letter can change the entire meaning of a word. One means someone you love, and the other is something you do to food when you want to get fat. I don’t want to get fat. I think I’ll just stick to friends. I won’t eat them, though.
Stan receives his order from the kind lady from the back, she has brown eyes and black hair encased in a net. “Thank you” he replies, she gives him a slight smile and walks to the back to tend to the others. Grabbing the tray, he walks to an empty booth that is in between a few high school students and a couple feeding their 3 year old son. He takes a seat and starts to feast, he chews his food effectively and swallows. The couple behind him start to get loud and end up spilling their drink on the 3 year old, erupting into a high pitched wale, but Stan is not effected. He reaches into his container and pulls out a 2 french fries and chomps on it, his chewing slows until it comes to a halt, his eyes widen and his mouth drops as you see a viscous liquid emerge from it. He’s in shock and about to blow chunks, he slowly gets up trying not to startle his own gag reflexes. He covers his mouth and starts to walk very slowly towards the bathroom. The high school students stare at him judging his every movement, until he can’t hold it in any longer. He turns to the students and projectile vomits through his fingers, pelleting them with chunks of food Chinese takeout from the night before. The yellowish green ting drips off of their baffled faces. Stan wipes his mouth, and runs.