Dear Roast-Beef Sandwich

Oh. Ok. I get it, now.

I was beginning to wonder why you were so not concerned that others may have some pre-concieved notions about me and you, Roast beef sandwich.

Thanks for reminding me why.

It looks like you actually ENJOY looking like the one who did nothing wrong in our encounter together. Roast beef sandwich, does it make you feel better to get all that pity? Does it make you feel vindicated? From the amazing little ditty you re-introduced me to, it sure seems that way.

Why not mention how I murdered puppies in front of you, as well?

So you're going to speak to Au Jus sauce about "tact". Well, thanks. Be sure to tell them which fork goes on which side of the plate while you're at it, Roast beef sandwich.

In the meantime, I'll just amble on over to Country fried steak and fuck their whole lives up without their permission, as well. And then it's on to totally take advantage of Ms. Cold-cuts on wheat bread.

You see, I not only love women, I love to make them miserable. It's my main form of entertainment.

So, Roast beef sandwich, fuck all that noise and I'll just drown out your head-trip with a shit-load of ranch dressing.

Nix says: Nice meeting you. Can I have fries with that?