by Megan Brien
Well, what do you know about this? Lasagna again? Who am I, your uncle over for the game? He ha! Mom’s makin lasagna for dinner and you bet it’s gonna be an F-R-I-G-H-T! Know what that spells, friend? A night in the can, that’s what. (You know what I mean.) Like, hello, what do I have to do to get a decent meal around here?? Huh?
Family, amiright?
Man, oh man, I can smell it from here. What does she put in it, sweaty gym socks? Gross!! Mister, you’re gonna have to do a lot more than pile on the parmesan to cover that taste. It’ll be weeks before I can even walk through the kitchen without feeling a swift kick to the Snout.
Don’t even get me started about the texture. It’s like, chewy, you know what I mean? Like real chewy. Talk about… Star Wars …ha!
I’m talking about a real gastronomical phenomenon–a gastronomenon if you will. Ha ha! Like nothing you’ve ever seen before. I’m telling you, get out now before it’s too late. If you aren’t careful, she’ll make you have two helpings—she’ll say, hey, what’s the matter with it? Not hungry? Get some more!!! And I do. Can’t hurt her feelings, ya know? So I get two heaping platefuls of this lasan-yuck. You can guess how it all turns out.
Please Lord, help me out over here! Give me the Corona if it means I’ll never have to eat my mother’s lasagna again!