Man has walked on the moon, created civilization, established lasting monuments of art and architecture. And I will eat a roast beef sandwich. If you are under the age of 18, please turn away.
It began innocently enough. I had already scarfed two roast beef sandwiches, but the hunger--the animal urge--was still wrestling within me. I had to have another. I had to jump head-first into the cornucopia of roast beef and barbecue sauce.
The Despiser and his groveler.
At first I was overwhelmed by the sheer mass of the sandwich.
How does one safely ingest such an obtuse object?
After a Socratic seminar with my minions, we all agreed that the best option would be for me to open the front exhaust port of my face.
I am the Death Star to the roast beef’s Millennium Falcon.
After an arduous five minutes, the sandwich at last entered my cavernous maw. Where it has gone to now is something the philosophers will muse over for centuries untold, I’m sure.
Tomorrow, I will eat raisins.
btw, You look like Michael Ian Black in that last one.
to the whole thread.