My hips are getting sore. Bumps are overrated. Rolls, however....
Bah. Nobody wants to roll with Mo tonight, animal. With good reason: just got home from a sweaty commute. I disgust myself. Call me "Comic Book Guy."
Bongo, it's a good thing we communicate like this, so I can perpetuate your delusional beliefs.
smudge, dear:
"rugged" in this context means "long-lasting" and "high-value" from where I ogle. I'll save any further prurient accolades for private communication. The London coven collectively turned my head so quickly that my neck is still sore, weeks later.
I credit my admitted gluttony to two things. One, an upbringing by a parent who lived through the Depression of the previous century. Seeing food that might go to waste is not something I take casually. Two, the stuff we've all chosen for our notional group meal is all wonderful and I don't want to stop tasting it. So I overindulge. I contain multitudes.
E, your query begs the question: "trivia much?" Dinner tonight will be thawed frozen supermarket salmon remainders (not as lowlife as it sounds; it's nice and cheap), grilled with some sort of obnoxious seasoning, and a side of couscous with fajita spice (which helps silence the Call of the Taco a bit). The beer (already in progress) is a concatenation of Stone Pale Ale (California), Flying Fish Extra Pale Ale (New Jersey), and Smuttynose Shoals Pale Ale (Vermont). It's shaping up to be a pale evening, I think. I may actually turn to fruit for dessert, seeing as how DM conscientiously supplied me with far more than I could consume before her return.
Lynn, burritos are fine (and we have a few of the TJ frozen you're describing, as a matter of fact), but tacos are just way too easy to inhale. Stop bumping while I'm pouring ale into my face, please. Whew.