I would like to go to a taco party. But I would actually settle for a nacho party. Or even an eating-a-hunk-of-pepper-jack-while-standing-in-front-of-the-open-refrigerator-party.
God I hate to see cupcake-on-cupcake violence. This is worse than the time Mrs. Butterworth got assaulted by the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Screw mink. Nothing is more elegant that a couple of bacon slices draped around your shoulders. Take note, Joan Collins.
I'm on a diet. Do you have any carrots on the other cheek?
This is exactly what I tell myself when I'm eating my twelfth slice of bacon before 10 a.m. That, and burritos are tube salad.
The worst part of this pork chop tattoo is that it's actually supposed to be a map of Australia.
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