Hamhock Soliloguy!

TO WHISK, OR NOT TO WHISK! That is the custard:

Whether tis nobler in the bowl, to suffer the breads and butters of outrageous waistlines, or to take anice against a tub of lard, and by broasting, blend them.

To brine, to sip, no more, and in a sip, to say we end this heartburn, and the thousand natural farts that flesh is 'air' to. Tis a consumme devoutly to be dished...

To diet, to whip, to whip, perchance to drip, ay, there's the blubber! For in that [Hershey's] kiss of blend what teas may come, when we have shriveled into an olive oil, must give us cramps; there's the preheat that make calamari of so long lime, for who would bear the creams and corns of time: The winepresser's rum, the proud lamb's compote, the pancakes of despised plum, the ham's decay, the innocence of allspice, and the burns that paste of the tomato of the inedible takes when he himself might his custards make with a clear brandy?

Who would fennel bear, to roll and knead under a weary hearth, but that the dread of dinner without beer!

The unsanitized counter, from whose bread no foodie devours fizzes the drink and makes us rather drink those salts we have than to fry to those we know not of? Thus corn chips doth make calories of us all, and thus the native rue of refried beans in sicklied oer with the kale pasta raw, and pepto bismols of great pots of hominy, with this regard, their currants turn awry, and chew the fat of bacon!

Courtesy of MOI!