Food For Thought And Possibly Digestion

I recently received this telegraph from my cousin, Lester Ogden Calworth Sprechendedeutsch Blatsworth II although I call him Bob IV for short. He bade me to try this soup from the good folks at Primo called Primo Amore Sicilian Meatball that he found so tantalizing that he almost forgot to strap on his soup bib, such was his haste to get his face into a bowl of this nutrient. "Good for the body, soul and mind," he bespoke, "and good for foot fungus also," he continued. As a man of science I had my doubts knowing that only meatball soup containing hydroxycloxbillfinplostricide is the only compounded formula that can reign in and contain nasty fungal properties. Nevertheless, it was my brain that needed feeding, not my feet and I immediately put on my bathrobe and struck out for the local groceteria to procure a can of said product. The label was captivating and very enticing, portraying numerous tiny meatballs, about the size of rabbit droppings along with an invitingly shaped pasta bobbing in the broth. My hands trembled as I opened the can at home, heated it over a Sterno flame and ladled it into a bowl. Alas, to my consternation, there was nary a meatball to be found. I fished around, plucked three measly meatballs from the mire and that was all that was there to be discovered. Three meatballs the size of microbes! Surely they jest. On that note, check for my upcoming review of another book I haven't read, Infinite Jest, another mighty tome useful for crushing insects. But back to the soup. No self-respecting Sicilian would eat this stuff and I suspect, would probably slit the throat of the person who made it. Or give them a Sicilian necktie, which I believe is like a regular necktie but with a louder pattern and a smaller knot, as opposed to the Windsor Knot that, as we know, was developed by the Duke Of Windsor one morning when he was hungover and couldn't make a proper knot.

Plus it's a known fact that the Duke had fingers like sausages and more nimble knot-tying configurations bewildered him. So who was tying his tie knots all those years? Who knows? One of the great mysteries that follow the Royal Family around like bad gas trapped in underpants. Luckily the Duke had impressive facial hair, which goes well with a Windsor Knot and also ocelots, which the Duke liked to walk on Sundays in Hamstonhead Park, until one of them bit Mrs. Cruspie, the Dowager of Dunleavy, and the Duke was forced to leash them. So, suffice to say, don't buy this soup unless you need three tiny meatballs to stuff in your nostrils to keep the pollen out.