ONION PARFAITS

So, do you people have ANY IDEA how ridiculously thin a regular Hershey's bar is? Hardly worth your spit...unless you were to, oh, I don't know, say take several (four) bars and stack them on top of each other, when no one was watching, and snarf them down like they were a special Princess Lisa Onion Parfait (layers~just like Shrek.)

Not that I'd know.

Because that would be wrong...and decadent. (shaking head in shame~furrowed eyebrows)

And sinful(-ly delicious.)

I can only imagine (remember.)

Also, did I mention the CORRUPT FOLKS WHO MANUFACTURE CHICLETS? Not that I want to cast an ugly pall over such an exquisite delicacy, but I feel it's my duty to pass on my knowledge that while ALL OTHER LARD/CHOLESTEROL PUSHERS are SUPERSIZING our portions and rumps, this little orange box has gone the OTHER WAY and is minimizing. They've spun this web of deceit gracefully, as the box has remained the same size. But the COUNT, people. The COUNT IS OFF BY TWO. FREAKIN. CHICLE. SQUARES. You heard me right. Two Chicles~M.I.A. Cheated by snake eyes.

On another note, I'm having a hard time finding my "zone." Like my work/create/energy/accomplish/exercise/arise before noon thirty/aspire/succeed zone. Not sure where it is. Might have been stolen when we went to daylight savings. A bunch of zones were munged up about that time, so I'm thinking that's when the farmer's got a hold of it and mistakenly planted it with their crops, expecting a fantastic harvest.

Which unfortunately has left poor zoned out Princess Lisa wandering around with remnants of Onion Parfait dripping from her chins while her family scavenges about finding nothing but cupcake sprinkles and evaporated milk for dinner.

Which is also the beginnings of a perfectly satisfactory dessert, people. So kwitcherbitchin.