Back Off, Mortals

I’m still having emotional aftershocks from the prime rib. I just realized: I am now capable of cooking the finest meal in the universe. Prime rib, the perfect baked potato, homebrewed ale, and BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE. Four-thousand-dollar prostitutes have nothing on me. The pleasure I can create puts their sorry efforts in the shade. This qualifies me for superhero status. No human should have powers like these.

Blueberries are in season right now. So cheap. So close.

NO.

Someone stop me.