About a decade back, my friend Earl was mildly obsessed with the word treacle. It’s not widespread around these parts, but my other friend Kate is from Scotland and brought us a can of Heinz treacle cake after a visit home. It was oily and gross. But the continuation of the treacle theme inspired Earl and I to rent the movie “Brimstone and Treacle” when we discovered it. The flick featured pre-solo-years Sting and was just awful. I mean, it wasn’t just a lame way to spend time, it was sick and twisted. I’m not going to describe it, but trust me, the film was disturbing. Then, toward the beginning of this year, Stephanie started talking about a weird movie she’d seen on TV in the early eighties. I asked, “Was it Brimstone and Treacle?” She looked at me, shocked, and said she believed so. Besides Earl and I, she seems to be the only person on the planet who’s seen this horrendous moving picture. So our trio has an exclusive B&T club now. The treacle thing is still an ongoing joke with Earl and I, weaving itself in on occasion. A couple days ago, he left a Pantone mug (color 2745 C) on my doorstep which contained a Post-it note declaring “Place treacle HERE” with an arrow pointing down. Maybe I have a new culinary endeavor in my future.


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