When I was a kid whatever was left in the refrigerator on Dad's next payday or was only a week past its expiration date, would wind up in a goulash or a stew or some kinda coal-fired casserole Mom called "Slumgullion".  And over the years "Slumgullion" just naturally took on the definition of left overs, experiments and things that looked like one thing but were actually something else. In other words, pretty much my life.  

These essays (there's around 40 of them, so stay tuned) are columns I wrote for a community newspaper, so if they seem a little on the PG side of 13, take a look at your community newspaper and see how many ads there are for strip joints. 
New(er) Slums shamelessly ripped off my blog