Early the next morning, after vomiting a sad black and white rainbow, I felt very empty. Emotionally I was empty, but I was even more literally and physically empty having just vomited profusely and excessively. Hunger plagued all of my senses. I could barely move or chronicle my innermost thoughts. I wanted to die, just not of starvation. I wanted to die of ultimate sadness, dipped in humiliation with a side of deprivation salad topped with Newman's Own Lite French Solitude dressing. The thought of this deliciously morose death made me even more famished. I finally arose from my vomitous ashes and made a slow, deliberate trip to my grocer's freezer. There I saw it: a bastion of heavenly beef - Dwight Yoakam's Lanky Links. A sausage creation, bathed in sweet mythos, sent down from the Almighty Dwight himself. With reverence and a gleeful tingling in my bones, I grabbed the frozen delectables, purchased them, and retreated to the parking lot to partake in the prepackaged palatables. As I slowly opened the cardboard casket in which my sausage friends had been imprisoned, I came to a startling and morbid realization: I had no heat source from whence to cook the meaty obelisks. Defeated and de-motivated, I took to lobbing the frozen meat-sticks at nearby vehicles, resulting in indentions that were neither too big, nor too small to be created by frozen sausage.
I get very emotional about my breakfast meats.
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