There is no god. There is only Harrison Ford's chiseled jawline.

I am so fucking hungry that I am on the verge of pulling an Optimus and sinking my teeth into the drywall. My new trainee and I sat here at the end of our day and tortured ourselves with menus from The Velvet Cactus, Another Broken Egg, Katie's, and the Half Shell Oyster House. One half of me is screaming YOU WANT A MIXED PLATE OF POULTRY AND DEAD COW FAJITAS, CHIPOTLE CHEESE GRITS MIXED IN WITH CITY GRITS, HALF OF A CUBAN SANDWICH, AND SOME CAJUN BOILED NEW POTATOES WITH PARMESAN and the other half is wondering if the pillows at fat camp are sufficiently fluffy enough to mask the sound of my tears of shame.

Then again, it's at fat camp-I'd doubt anything there would be fluffy.