That’s it—I’ve got one day left to live. I will be dead in 24 hours, and I need to make up my mind about what the very last meal is going to be… oh em gee; this is my last meal. Excuse me while I cry do that thing that manly-men do when they are scared and sad.
Whatever that is.
It’s like pasta cake; a great big mountain of layers upon layers of delicious cheesy and meaty and vegetable-y goodness. Call me Garfield, it’s my fave. My favvveeeeee.
The real question here is not “why do you love garlic bread so much, Ben?” but rather “who’s the genius who wanted his bread to taste of pure accomplishment?” Straight up, 100% excellent delicious garlic. Whoever he/she/it was, I congratulate thee and tip my hat and twirl my moustache at you. Thank you.
The piece-de-resistance, if I could make love to anything edible it’d be this fine creation here. The taste of pie in my mouth would almost make dying tolerable. Just no pecan please. Lurves it, but I mean… c’mon. Pecan pie as last meal? Nuh uh.
I’ll pass.
Pee dot ess dot: dun worry, is kay. I’m no die. k thanx
Written 4 Apr 10 @ 09:17pm