As most of you know, I love food. You know, you can take one glance at my humongous frame and you’d probably conclude that I love food. Also, the five chilidogs have in my mouth would be a pretty good giveaway. In fact, I love food so much I could probably name a few (twenty) sexual deviations involving food that I probably have don’t have.

Who would’ve thought that my love for food would actually be a social impediment?

I was eating in KFC with Wits and Baddie, stuffing our faces as usual with chicken and discussing the merits of KY Jelly when applied to financial situations in the context of the current global economic meltdown. Don’t ask.

So we soon realized that we ran out of gravy. And somehow there was only one gravy thermos in a floor of around fifty gravy-eating customers. Fifty murderous gravy-eating customers who are desperate for it.

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