Dough: bread, chocolate chips, killer, banana, apple, and person.
The dough was turned into bread by a person.
The person added chocolate chips to the bread.
Then a killer banana and a killer apple came in and ate the man.
Then the killer fruits ate the bread that had chocolate chips all over it.
Moms in the kitchen making the dough.
Brothers in the bedroom listening to the radio.
Dads always gone.
Life goes on.
We know he doesn’t love us.
It’s just to hard to say.
We ignore the fact that he has another family.
Maybe one day he will just be a memory.
the dough was out of money
so he went and made dough
but he got in some business
that he shouldn’t be he owed
a lot of dough or he was going to be killed
“You have to make dough.”
Our life is a fight to have the most money.
We work, and work, but nothing is ever enough.
We act so tough
Yet don’t want to be grown
Because this stress
clouds my vision
and makes it hard to see what’s right in front of me.
Dough. A substance which can have many different meanings, depending on the circumstances. Not only is dough used in cooking, but also in military explosive devices. In the modern societey, Dough is often accosiated with Ben and jerry and one of it
The dough has only risen slightly, but it was a start, she thought. if she could wait three and a half years for this dinner to happen, she knew she could wait for a single apple pie to bake without opening the oven minute after minute.
Dough is often imaged in the form of cookie dough. Something that people enjoy how it is. Something people enjoy better baked. But the again, something that can be shaped into almost anything. Completely useless.
She watched as Felicity scraped the last bits of dough off the sides of the bowl with a wooden spoon, and wondered how long it had been since she herself had done such a thing. How long had it been since she had actually stood in a kitchen and kneaded dough? Or washed dishes?
Strange, she thought, the turns life takes. One day you’re working in a kitchen, just as you have every day for years, and then you blink and you’ve been fighting a war for decades, and haven’t set foot in a kitchen in ages.
She takes a deep breath, and clears her throat. Felicity stops, and turns at the sounds. Her eyes widen.
salt and sun and lips smearing against my blue sheet legs behind me sad butt in the air happy eyes against the pillow sheets stomach flat against the bed arms down the side singing summer songs and corn muffins and good mornings
A novel features a Ukranian man who bakes bread for his English teacher. It is his way of expressing his love for her as his words fail him. Wonderful novel about two women who start their lives new. The bread is homemade.
Working in the bakery of the Special School in China that day, I sat down and helped an elderly Chinese woman who had asked some help in learning the words she had scrawled out on a little scrap of paper. “Roll the doh-r,” she said sheepishly. Trying my best to explain how to say it in English, she was still not grasping the concept. Finally, knowing how to right it in Korean, I wrote “doh”. “Oh!! DOH!!” she exclaimed and I saw the look of joy on her face. It was an amazing sight to see.
She mixed the dough with her hands, even though they were dirty after cleaning all the mess her husband’s body left after she smacked him with a bottle on the head. The dough turned from white to light red after a while
Dough reminds me of money which is what I want most right now. I want money to do the things I would like to do, which is pursue my dreams. I wish I didn’t have to work. I wish I could be a writer/actor, stay at home, pursue the craft and have enough money to live on. I know this is not possible right now but perhaps, at some point, it will be. I know I don’t have to have all the answers. It just feels like I’d like to get close to this place.
I love the feel of dough in my fingers. Making cinnamon rolls with my great, great Aunt Mamie was one of my favorite childhood activities. Our hands would be sticky and smell wonderful from all of the dough. And I loved to take sneaky bites from them.
I look in the mirror.
It’s been five weeks since I started eating only 1400 calories in a day.
I want to see results, but all I see is dough.
My skin is pale, and squishy. And I am disappointed because I thought this would go faster.
one day, she thought, it was quite simple but,
what if everything was just fine?
the dough rolled in her hands, back and forth,
what if it was all just okay?
He looked tired as he mixed the cookie dough in a bowl. I knew it, given the bags under his eyes. I was sitting in my chair in the kitchen thinking of mom, who was still at the hospital being taken care of. He glanced at me and then winked with a beaten smile. It took me a while to smile back.
cookie dough is amazing, and I would totally eat it raw all the time, but I’d get fat and I don’t want that. Also I love that dough used to make cookies and the bottom of pies.
i Am writing because i do want to write.
But then again, i did and and do not want to come up with any idea of dough, therefore i am writing on how i do not want to write about dough. Not because i cannot, but because i do not.
I am like dough: I have the potential to become something, but am still nothing. I am shaped by everyone around me in subtle ways that change me depending on who is molding me into something different.
His cheeks reminded her of dough before it goes in the oven. Drooping and jiggling as he laughed. She wanted to punch him, but she imagined her fist becoming stuck in the pale, squishy layers of his jaw.
When you’re born in a world where you kill or get killed, where your whole family expects you to bring home the dough, where you have no other choice than be tough, what can you do?
making pizza was my job i loved doing it watching the dough twirl in the air as i stretched it out for my dads pizza company he was italian an immigrant during the second world war i loved his ambition and he taught me not to take anything for granted as he never had much growing up
She pushed her hands through, covering them, submerging them in the soft, sticky dough. She pulled back and pushed again. And again and again and again until it was habit more than ritual. She blew her bangs back from her head, stirring up the flour that from her nose.
The dough was too stiff for kneading and she fought with it. It fought back against her and she hit it a few times. Finally, she had to use a taser to get it to lie down in the trough. She pushed it into the incubator and sighed. This one was going to be a difficult child, but she would have nine months to prepare for it. She alerted her supervisor – this one would either become a world leader who would get them out of the ecological mess they were in. Or it would become a sociopath and thoroughly destroy the world. The technician hung up her coat and left the room. Before she went outside to go home, she donned the gas mask, googles and acid-proof coat. She wasn’t sure which would be better, the hope of salvation or the despair of destruction.
cooking grandma cake taste messy sticky smell awesome
my mom loves to cook and my grandmother does to i eat the cake she made the taste the mess the stick and the smell were so good and the awesome icing
Oh no my dough! oh well dough, I’ll just make another dough yo! It’s going to be okay dough!
Dough: bread, chocolate chips, killer, banana, apple, and person.
The dough was turned into bread by a person.
The person added chocolate chips to the bread.
Then a killer banana and a killer apple came in and ate the man.
Then the killer fruits ate the bread that had chocolate chips all over it.
Moms in the kitchen making the dough.
Brothers in the bedroom listening to the radio.
Dads always gone.
Life goes on.
We know he doesn’t love us.
It’s just to hard to say.
We ignore the fact that he has another family.
Maybe one day he will just be a memory.
the dough was out of money
so he went and made dough
but he got in some business
that he shouldn’t be he owed
a lot of dough or he was going to be killed
“You have to make dough.”
Our life is a fight to have the most money.
We work, and work, but nothing is ever enough.
We act so tough
Yet don’t want to be grown
Because this stress
clouds my vision
and makes it hard to see what’s right in front of me.
oh my dough
burning in the stove
got to start over
to make new dough
so if I poke your belly will you go “ahuhuhuhu~”
The dough had a sweet taste, despite this it was impossible to eat.
In order to make cookies, you need dough.
Dough is a marvelous word which can be used instead of not only in a sentence.
Dough. A substance which can have many different meanings, depending on the circumstances. Not only is dough used in cooking, but also in military explosive devices. In the modern societey, Dough is often accosiated with Ben and jerry and one of it
l like dough, however i prefer the actual cookie
The dough has only risen slightly, but it was a start, she thought. if she could wait three and a half years for this dinner to happen, she knew she could wait for a single apple pie to bake without opening the oven minute after minute.
It’s time to prepare our dough. We want to eat pancakes tonight. I’m really looking forward to this delight.
Dough is often imaged in the form of cookie dough. Something that people enjoy how it is. Something people enjoy better baked. But the again, something that can be shaped into almost anything. Completely useless.
She watched as Felicity scraped the last bits of dough off the sides of the bowl with a wooden spoon, and wondered how long it had been since she herself had done such a thing. How long had it been since she had actually stood in a kitchen and kneaded dough? Or washed dishes?
Strange, she thought, the turns life takes. One day you’re working in a kitchen, just as you have every day for years, and then you blink and you’ve been fighting a war for decades, and haven’t set foot in a kitchen in ages.
She takes a deep breath, and clears her throat. Felicity stops, and turns at the sounds. Her eyes widen.
“Hi.”
salt and sun and lips smearing against my blue sheet legs behind me sad butt in the air happy eyes against the pillow sheets stomach flat against the bed arms down the side singing summer songs and corn muffins and good mornings
A novel features a Ukranian man who bakes bread for his English teacher. It is his way of expressing his love for her as his words fail him. Wonderful novel about two women who start their lives new. The bread is homemade.
Working in the bakery of the Special School in China that day, I sat down and helped an elderly Chinese woman who had asked some help in learning the words she had scrawled out on a little scrap of paper. “Roll the doh-r,” she said sheepishly. Trying my best to explain how to say it in English, she was still not grasping the concept. Finally, knowing how to right it in Korean, I wrote “doh”. “Oh!! DOH!!” she exclaimed and I saw the look of joy on her face. It was an amazing sight to see.
She mixed the dough with her hands, even though they were dirty after cleaning all the mess her husband’s body left after she smacked him with a bottle on the head. The dough turned from white to light red after a while
Dough reminds me of money which is what I want most right now. I want money to do the things I would like to do, which is pursue my dreams. I wish I didn’t have to work. I wish I could be a writer/actor, stay at home, pursue the craft and have enough money to live on. I know this is not possible right now but perhaps, at some point, it will be. I know I don’t have to have all the answers. It just feels like I’d like to get close to this place.
I love the feel of dough in my fingers. Making cinnamon rolls with my great, great Aunt Mamie was one of my favorite childhood activities. Our hands would be sticky and smell wonderful from all of the dough. And I loved to take sneaky bites from them.
Form formed of
Silent summer
Nights –
Why are your
Eyes overcast?
Pass the dough bro Joe said to Moe.
But bro, said Moe I aint finished with it though.
Don’t make me go fight you for the dough yo.
Joe said to Moe as he grabbed a garden ho.
Moe looked at Joe, “I said no dough.”
Then Joe swung the ho. No mo Moe.
I look in the mirror.
It’s been five weeks since I started eating only 1400 calories in a day.
I want to see results, but all I see is dough.
My skin is pale, and squishy. And I am disappointed because I thought this would go faster.
one day, she thought, it was quite simple but,
what if everything was just fine?
the dough rolled in her hands, back and forth,
what if it was all just okay?
1dough=Doing On Union Grafting-with Heat
“Dude, you got the stuff?”
“Yeah, man. You got the dough?”
“Right here.”
Benny plopped the bag down, which made a soft, wet, almost sticky WHUMP sound on the wood. I frowned.
“Um…dude? You know I meant ‘dough’ as in slang for ‘money,’ right?”
The dimwit’s eyebrows shot up. “Sh**, really?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure you don’t want some good bread dough?”
“Just get out of here, man, and don’t come back until you have CASH.”
He looked tired as he mixed the cookie dough in a bowl. I knew it, given the bags under his eyes. I was sitting in my chair in the kitchen thinking of mom, who was still at the hospital being taken care of. He glanced at me and then winked with a beaten smile. It took me a while to smile back.
cookie dough is amazing, and I would totally eat it raw all the time, but I’d get fat and I don’t want that. Also I love that dough used to make cookies and the bottom of pies.
It is a type of pasta or something like that. We need boil it before eat and
i Am writing because i do want to write.
But then again, i did and and do not want to come up with any idea of dough, therefore i am writing on how i do not want to write about dough. Not because i cannot, but because i do not.
I am like dough: I have the potential to become something, but am still nothing. I am shaped by everyone around me in subtle ways that change me depending on who is molding me into something different.
She would make cookie dough the night before so she could wake him up every morning with the sweet smell of happiness in the air.
His cheeks reminded her of dough before it goes in the oven. Drooping and jiggling as he laughed. She wanted to punch him, but she imagined her fist becoming stuck in the pale, squishy layers of his jaw.
When you’re born in a world where you kill or get killed, where your whole family expects you to bring home the dough, where you have no other choice than be tough, what can you do?
making pizza was my job i loved doing it watching the dough twirl in the air as i stretched it out for my dads pizza company he was italian an immigrant during the second world war i loved his ambition and he taught me not to take anything for granted as he never had much growing up
She pushed her hands through, covering them, submerging them in the soft, sticky dough. She pulled back and pushed again. And again and again and again until it was habit more than ritual. She blew her bangs back from her head, stirring up the flour that from her nose.
The dough was too stiff for kneading and she fought with it. It fought back against her and she hit it a few times. Finally, she had to use a taser to get it to lie down in the trough. She pushed it into the incubator and sighed. This one was going to be a difficult child, but she would have nine months to prepare for it. She alerted her supervisor – this one would either become a world leader who would get them out of the ecological mess they were in. Or it would become a sociopath and thoroughly destroy the world. The technician hung up her coat and left the room. Before she went outside to go home, she donned the gas mask, googles and acid-proof coat. She wasn’t sure which would be better, the hope of salvation or the despair of destruction.