Partly Cloudy, 64°
Wowzers, I sure love being off meal plan! When I originally made the plunge, I admit (OKAY I admit it YOU GUYS!) I thought it'd be alright. I'd at least eat a bit healthier - maybe lose a little weight in the process, if you know what I mean - but I never imagined in my wildest of fantasies that it could be like this. I mean, really, oh man.
Point: I Love Being Off Meal Plan!
By Andy Newton
Oh.
Man.
Among my companions and acquaintances, I found nothing but nay-sayers. "Nay!" they shouted. "Nay!" Well, now I am the one screaming. Screaming with delight, that is, because this food is absolutely to die for.
I open my refrigerator every evening to find that it is a veritable cornucopia of culinary delights. Cornucopia, I say! Stuffed pastas. Fruits and cheeses in a plethora of varieties. Sausage, both spicy and sweet. My Lord. I almost reach climax at the thought.
Wait, there we go.
In fact, I think I'll go right now to see what my palate has in store for it tonight. Hmm, what do we have here? This looks promising. I'll just give it a quick whiff.
Ooh, baby. Smells fancy. Why can't it be dinnertime already, so I can enjoy the rainbow of
flavors encased in this dish? I curse time and its interminable passage. You hear me? I curse you!
Fine, I'll just take a teensy-weensy little taste, but it has to be our little secret, okay? Okay? Good. Here we go, I'll just grab a forkful and -
Well spank my mother and call me Sally, this is delicious! Golly gosh darn. I never fail to amaze even myself.
Counterpoint: Stop Eating My Fucking Dinner, You Asshole
By Robert LaSalle
God damn it! Again? Seriously? How many times do I have to - this time you've gone too far, Andy.
I know I've shared a meal or two with you in the past, but a lasagna between friends is one thing. This is entirely another. I didn't say anything when you ate my leftover split pea soup. I gave you the gentlest of warnings when you consumed all of my Curry in a Hurry. I may have slapped you around a bit when my tuna melt "mysteriously disappeared." This though. This? Too far, man.
And I was so looking forward to that meal. I spent a good twenty minutes finding a recipe online. I printed it out and everything. I went on a special grocery run. Sitting in lecture, the thought of the first delicious bite into a steaming, little potato dumpling was the only thing keeping me going; that, and the girl in my Portuguese section who still insists on wearing miniskirts.
But then you just had to go and ruin all of that, didn't you? Didn't you?!
Gnocchi al Gorgonzola. Gorgon-fucking-zola. You know how hard it is to find a decent piece of cheese in this town?!
Fuck you.
Frankly, I don't understand where the confusion lies. All my meals are carefully packaged in Tupperware containers with my name on them. Here, you see this? This one clearly says "Robert" on it. So does this one. And that one. "Robert." Not "Andy." Maybe if our names shared one or two letters in common, I'd understand the mistake.
But this is no mistake. This is clear, intentional, unadulterated malice. Plain and simple.
I'm only gonna say this one more time, and then, I swear to God, there will be hell to pay: stop eating my fucking dinner.
