Being a devout Philistine, I wouldn't reach across the table for a bite of fat duck liver sausage. If someone forced a gob of pay dee foy grass on me, I'd get a doggie bag and save it for catfish bait.

Furthermore -- and even if you could double for the young Marilyn Monroe --  if you put that crap in your mouth and suddenly wished to kiss me, I would delay the pleasure until you wiped out a quart of Lavoris.

So, why do I have this notion that the Constitution of the United States would be well served if someone flew to Berkeley, choked down a piece of diseased duck organ, and waited calmly, a Louisville Slugger in hand, for the first phucking phood cop to approach the table?


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h/t -- J