Seven-11 Corn Dog
A pattern is developing in America, and were it not for the fact that it has adversely affected the personal enjoyment of my avocation, I wouldn’t give a dormouse’s perineum. But since it has and continues to, I decry it here. It can be graphed and pie-charted in terms of America’s widening chasm between the haves and the have nots, or as I prefer to delineate them, the haves and the haven’ts. While the former is easily lambasted by haute cuisine punditry in matters of attempted high art in cooking, it is not for the squeamish gourmet commentator to suggest the very real truth that the latter’s component of the grid is likewise guilty of poor discernment. Indeed, when one disdains the masses in print, a torrent of objection, derision and even threatened violence ensues. That said, I fear not the rabble, as the security apparatus at my Beverly Hills apartment building is impervious, and my leased Mercedes has a stunning acceleration ratio. To my dismay, the American lowe