Tendercrisp bacon cheddar Ranch

The breasts, they grow on trees. And somehow, this commerical lives on, far longer than any burger king commerical for a mysterious sandwhich no one will ever eat featuring a burned out pop star in a strange cowboy outfit and a collection of attractive women in bizarre clothing should. It has become a cultural event, much like the Geico commericals, and their immediate predecessor, Mentos (the freshmaker). As far as pervasiveness, one can find references to this icon of commerical genius even in esteemed page 2 articles on ESPN.com. However, the very curious nature of the commerical is this; after watching it, I still have no desire to eat the sandwhich, or even visit the Burger King. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the Burger King in the bottom of Lenior dining hall is the only fast food resturant in the world (the world I have seen, anyway) that unashamedly utilizes a MICROWAVE in every meal they prepare. Instead of the sizzle of a grill or the pop of a deep fryer (think chik-fil-a) the only sound coming from the back of BK is a steady HMMM followed by a beeping when the meal is ready. Obviously, this melts the cheese very well, but does not do much for the flavor and consistency of the meat. And sadly, I do not think the Tendercrisp bacon cheddar ranch lives there. On a happier note, the time spent in Sparta allowed me to drive the new F-350 (strange how vehicles are purchased after I have left for college), and it is a dream, everything that a rumbling 6.0 liter powerstroke diesel wedgewood blue 6 speed transmission with grillguard and spray-on bedliner should be. The major drawback for me was the location of the Reverse, oddly placed on the left of the shifting pattern, a place not natural for R to be. However, upon further experience, that I recieved taking the trash to the Dump (yes, in the country, we have to take our own trash, there are no convienent dumpsters or curbside pickup) it became more familiar to me, and the power of the beast was sizable, greater than the previous F-350 with the powerstroke, 7.3 liter version. Obviously, dad did not purchase this one with Mom in mind, as Pam is, and has always been, completely unable to operate a manual transmission. Not that a vehicle of this size would be a good idea for Pam, with her 5 ft height and 20/1 million vision. Let us be real for a moment; my internet sucks. If you find yourself asking why I have not consistently posted, or why you have not had the chance to chat with me online about various and sundry topics, it is directly related to the decision of some neighbor of mine to suddenly and bastardly password protect their connection. I ask you, is a little stolen bandwidth such a bad thing? A more victimless crime has yet to be committed. Go forth, and find the ubiquitious sandwhich of which Darius sings, perhaps BK will let you have it your way.