So let me get this straight. You find yourself in the kitchen. You see an éclair in the receptacle... and you think to yourself: "What the hell, I'll just eat some trash."
His eyes are peculiar. There is nothing in them, like an eclair without the cream filling. It's wrong, lack of cream.
And the closest I've come to an out-of-body experience was when Joe Morelli took his mouth to me fourteen years ago, behind the eclair case.
Valhalla on the right. Paradise regained on the left. Stuck between a Godiva truffle and a chocolate eclair. Between a rock and a very hard place. Two very hard places from the looks of it.
McKinley shows all the background of a chocolate eclair.
McKinley has no more backbone than a chocolate eclair.
Almost anything can be stretched to serve more people by being added to a white sauce or canned gravy or undiluted or very slightly diluted canned soup and served over noodles or rice. With chops or chocolate eclairs, however, the only solution is to claim you don't like them.
No one thinks anything silly is suitable when they are an adolescent. Such an enormous share of their own behavior is silly that they lose all proper perspective on silliness, like a baker who is nauseated by the sight of his own eclairs. This provides another good argument for the emerging theory that the best use of cryogenics is to freeze all human beings when they are between the ages of twelve and nineteen.
What the hell, I'll just eat some trash.
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