"But I dare say my fellow, it was 7-11 pizza

"But I dare say my fellow, it was 7-11 pizza wasn't it? A sort of Carb-laden greasy circular slab of adipose generating pie, made by non-Italians and a heat lamp. Right old chap?"

The Zagat’s intern slowly regained consciousness. “Ugh, the things I’m forced to consume: pizza, pretzels, late-night breakfast burritos. Can I but ONCE eat at a snooty joint where

she-crab soup and shrimp and grits and outrageously delicious cocktails are served?" Zagat's relented and sent their intern to POOGAN'S PORCH in Charleston, SC (shameless plug).

i stopped typing the next fold. POOGAN'S PORCH? (of Charleston, SC fame) I LOVE THAT PLACE! I hopped into my Mazda 3 and drove the 1320 miles for their she-crab soup. I arrived

at my destination. It had been far too long since I beheld the gran entrance and extravagant gates of Poogan's Porch. I rubbed my hands together, excited for what was to come.

Poogan had gained even more weight since my last visit. Sitting in the cantilevered swing he greeted me with a quaking belly laugh. "Skinny as a rake you are! Set down for victuals

and sweetmeats!" I obliged, subtly dropping the pill into Poogan's mead as I sat. "Tell me of the White Trail" said Poogan. "Is it passable?" Looking him in the eye, I raised my cu

face looked fine. Meanwhile my cheeks began to swell. The room, wavy & green. Did I unwittingly slip it in my own mead? Tiny suction cups sprouting on my skin indicated Yes. Poogan

Dietz laughed and laughed. I laughed and laughed and slapped myself silly with my own tendril, which became stuck. "Ehh, ennh, get it off!" I cried. The laughing continued.