Hollow out a tomato the size of January–larger than life.
Use a gun to puree it. A shotgun. It should take just two shots.
Color it like a swamp. Mud, gators, insects, and all. This does not
mean use seasoning. I found that crayons work best.
Now that the sauce is ready, go to the grocery store with the
shopping carts that are always wet and talk to the butcher
with the glass eye. He knows how to make a home a house.
He will tell you how the divorce was messy and how the sex
was never good. Don’t believe him–that lying cheat. Instead,
tell him that I am doing fine without him and begin to throw
the ground beef at him. If it falls to the ground, that is fine.
It gives it flavor. Then, demand they pick up all the chunks
of ground beef and sell it to you at a discounted price. This is
a trick my friend in the city showed me.  Finally, buy the
noodles with the blue cardboard packaging. There is no
advice I can give on the noodles. Just that they pair excellently with
cardboard. You boil the noodles (and cardboard) and cook the ground beef.
No seasoning. There is no need; it is a family dinner. You cook them
until the steam and smoke in the room chokes the parrot I got you
when you were young, the one
everyone thought already died.
                  Now grab the sauce,
                  the ground beef,
                  the noodles,
                  and say a prayer for your Aunt (cousin’s mother)
                  and dig in.