Forrest Gump said that life is like a box of chocolates. No offense, but that idiot was a moron. Never take your existential advice from someone who flunked special education.
Life is NOT like a box of chocolates. It's like a plate of school cafeteria spaghetti and meatballs. Rubbery unidentifiable protein lumps on top of slimy things, dressed with canned red gloop.
It's good, so good, so very very good.
You can't resist. Just a little bit more.
Sometimes there's too much oregano.
Just for the hell of it I took a cablecar ride with a bunch of tourists the other day. I think the two elderly men behind me came to some sort of consensus about the meaning of life, despite not being able to speak a word of each other's language. And I'm pretty sure they weren't communicating on a physical level.
Life is like a cablecar; lots of sweaty strangers and complete gibberish. Then you pass something famous and everyone goes "oooooh!"
Both before and after, body parts of other people may be an inconvenience up with which you will have to put.
AFTER THOUGHT
The San Francisco treat is NOT that miserable boxed pilaf preparation advertised on teevee. It's actually thick-sliced bacon in a crusty roll, drenched with barbecue sauce and salsa.
The breakfast of kings.
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