I'd rather eat a cow-pat on a bun than a bloody McDonalds.
They could take sesame seeds off the market and I wouldn't even care. I can't imagine 5 years from now saying, "Remember sesame seeds? What happened? All the buns are blank!"
How does a sesame seed stick to a bun? That's magical. There must be some sesame seed glue out there. Either that or they're adhesive on one side. Peel off the backing, place it on the bun.
Maybe you know why a child can reject a hot dog with mustard served on a soft bun at home, yet eat six of them two hours later at fifty cents each.
Perhaps you'd care for a synonym bun," suggested the duke.
I didn’t like to dress up in high school. I wore pajamas all the time. Or I would have my hair in a high bun from dance, and just wear dance clothes.”
I have an apple that thinks its a pear. And a bun that thinks it’s a cat. And a lettuce that thinks its a lettuce." "It’s a clever lettuce, then." "Hardly," she said with a delicate snort. "Why would anything clever think it’s a lettuce?" "Even if it is a lettuce?" I asked. "Especially then," she said. "Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too.
I'd like to wear my old [cinnamon buns] hairstyle again - but with white hair. I think that would be funny.
It requires a certain kind of mind to see beauty in a hamburger bun. Yet is it any more unusual to find grace in the texture and softly carved silhouette of a bun than to reflect lovingly on the hackles of a fishing fly? Or the arrangements and textures on a butterfly's wing? Not if you are a McDonalds's man.
In the '80s, I thought I'd be a success as a woman if I were the president of a billion dollar company, had a sensitive soul-mate husband, two bilingual children, buns of steels, and a compost heap. In the '90s, I pretty much feel I'm a success if I can get through the afternoon without eating a cheesecake.
Everyone's nervous these days. Ronald McDonald has hired six bodyguards, and that's just to protect his buns.
The girl in me wanted to slap Lung across his face and yell, "Get your eyes off my sticky buns, ya creep!
It was like orderin a hamburger and getting only the buns" (After Brooke White of season 7 on american idol sang the song 'Hero' by Mariah Carey)
Okay," Kincaid said. "Anyone have any questions?" "Why do they sell hot dogs in packages of ten but hot dog buns in packages of eight?
Incubated. And then raised. And then beheaded. And then plucked. And then cut up. And then put on a grill. And then put on a bun. Damn, it's gonna take a while. I don't have time. Scrambled!
So if animals aren't our friends, then what are they? The answer can be summed up between two buns.
When I find that so much of my life has stolen unprofitably away, and that I can descry by retrospection scarcely a few single days properly and vigorously employed, why do I yet try to resolve again? I try, because reformation is necessary and despair is criminal. I try, in humble hope of the help of God.
The Armful For every parcel I stoop down to seize I lose some other off my arms and knees, And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns, Extremes too hard to comprehend at. once Yet nothing I should care to leave behind. With all I have to hold with hand and mind And heart, if need be, I will do my best. To keep their building balanced at my breast. I crouch down to prevent them as they fall; Then sit down in the middle of them all. I had to drop the armful in the road And try to stack them in a better load.
Several sellers of hot meat pies and sausages in a bun had appeared from nowhere and were doing a brisk trade. [Footnote: They always do, everywhere. No-one sees them arrive. The logical explaination is that the franchise includes the stall, the paper hat and a small gas-powered time machine.]
The fisherman fishes as the urchin eats cream buns, from lust.
He lay back for a little in his bed thinking about the smells of food . . . of the intoxicating breath of bakeries and dullness of buns. . . . He planned dinners, of enchanting aromatic foods . . . endless dinners, in which one could alternate flavour with flavour from sunset to dawn without satiety, while one breathed great draughts of the bouquet of old brandy.
This deal is a sugar-coated satan sandwich. If you lift the bun, you will not like what you see.
I think of bad news as a huge bird, with the wings of a crow and the face of my Grade Four school teacher, sparse bun, rancid teeth, wrinkly frown, pursed mouth and all, sailing around the world under cover of darkness pleased to be the bearer of ill tidings, carrying a basket of rotten eggs, and knowing- as the sun comes up- exactly where to drop them. On me, for one.
By age seven, I used to comb my hair for performances, just pull my hair up into a bun. Granted, it wasn't a very intricate hairstyle. Still, to be that responsible and disciplined at age seven is unusual.
We’re never satisfied when it comes to food. ‘You know what’d be good on this burger? A ham sandwich. Instead of a bun, let’s use two donuts. That way we can have it for breakfast. Look out McGriddle. Here comes the donut-ham-hamburger!’
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