So Travolta could not bring himself to diet.

So Travolta could not bring himself to diet. He'd given himself to the McGriddle through sickness and health. Pulp Fiction 2. Travolta decided not to check his voicemails, Quentin

would call him directly. It was only a matter of time. He took another bite of McGriddle and eyed the cute McDonald's cashier. She could do with a little Travolta. Battlefield

Earth didn't dawn on her as a terrible movie, and who were Lisa McPherson & Josephus Havenith anyway? She spilled her McGriddle, drooling over the cashier some more. Oblivious, he

carried on the conversation, without noticing the sudden awkward embarrassing silence coming from her end of the conversation. It suddenly dawned on him that she was feeling as

misunderstood in her silence as he was in his wordiness. He faltered at his sudden introspection & their monologue conversation came to an end. "I kissed a hairlip today" she said.

He ruminated about what she just said. "Really? how was it?" (How was it? what a stupid thing to say. STUPID!) She turned away and bit her lip. "It was just like kissing a bunny."

She turned her back toward him and hoped he wouldn't ask any more questions. He was oblivious to her cold shoulder and kept pressing for more details, "what kind of bunny?" She

asked in the most suggestive way possible. He knew what she meant. "Alive or dead?" Couldn't she just say it???

I was lying on my back with my head on the edge of the bed. The booty was two feet from my head. Faced with the decision of whether to

let my carnal desire take me over completely or too get up, grab my clothes and run into the street I became paralysed with indecision. I reached into my pocket and flipped a coin.