Sometimes I miss hamburgers, I should say that. I miss the tuna pizzas at Mercer Kitchen.
When the first book out my sister-in-law read it and we were chatting at 5 o’clock in the afternoon and she said, “Oh my God, chapter six, sex and a murder,” and her five year old wandered into the kitchen and said, “Sixty hamburgers?
The same rightists who decades ago were shouting, ‘Better dead than red!’ are now often heard mumbling, ‘Better red than eating hamburgers.
I’m standing in a slaughterhouse where the cattle are begging to become hamburgers. I have a right to be jumpy.
Saying spirituality cannot exist without religion is like saying hamburgers cannot exist without McDonald’s.
Ethically, she couldn’t cause the suffering of any living thing. Logically, bacon cheeseburgers were delicious.
They served “Good Food” but only a G, an O and a D were lit up. Personally, I doubted God dined there. Unless God was keen on samonella poisoning and rat droppings in the hamburgers. But then again, what did I know?