So I'm sitting here and I'm writing my third Estella piece of the day and I'm scrambling to get the issue put together, and I make the mistake of having The Food Network going in the background. What do I hear? What? Emeril Lagasse nattering on about the wonders of chorizo. But what does he call it?
Like the name of a girl I used to teach.
A sausage I love so dearly pronounced in such a screwy way that it quite literally chaps my completely-dead-from-sitting-here-all-afternoon ass.
This is all I have to say:
You, sir, can suck it.
Oh the things that peeve me.