Granted, I don't like broccoli, but Sandy's

Granted, I don't like broccoli, but Sandy's cheese sauce made the green veggie tolerably. However, once I discovered that the sauce contained

a poor quality gorgonzola imported from the southern highlands, I spat the whole thing out. "How could you use the gorgonzola?" I cried. You know how I feel about

that odor! I rushed over to the nearest window to open it and let in fresh air. Although I knew some people liked the smell, to me it was like a whiff of rotten

salmon enchiladas. Ever since the store embraced and respected "differences" they place smelled like a damned

hallway in Hell's Kitchen. From delicious to puke in 5 feet. The dead rats were a warning of such stupidity. There might be hope

for the rats, but they never cared. They were just there for the music and wild parties. Well, they WOULD be there for the parties and whatnot, if there were some.

"But come on, how many wild parties do experimental psychologists have with their rats. Ok, there's probably some weird subset with a fetish." - Jane continued - "I, however,

prefer a nice meal with some wine and a little hash truffle sex." Jane paused to caress the cheek of one of her lab rats. "They submit to the tests willingly after such a night of

Pinkerton cops. The rat was hungry, but also tired of being the symbol of union busting turds like her. Viva Wisconsin! The rat shouted as it ate the Choco Exlax and lost it's mind