A stellar lack of self control led this member of the Australian parliament to sniff his lady staffer’s chair. Thankfully the staffer was not in the chair at the time.

After the roller derby two weeks ago (I know, I’m horrible, I totally deserve that slacker award) we went to Rosetta’s. Luckily, it was the first time I had been there since the night Foxy and I met, nearly 20 months ago. Unluckily, I was outvoted and we still went there.

How do you fuck up a grilled cheese sandwich? How? Bread, cheese, fry. It is quite possibly simpler than boiling water. That was the reason I ordered it. “How could they possibly fuck that up?” I thought. And yet my Rosetta’s grilled cheese was the grossest thing I had put in my mouth since my dad made Brussels sprouts with raspberry yogurt sauce when I was 10. Bland, gluey, soggy. You name it, that sandwich had it. The cheese had no flavor. I don’t remember what kind of cheese it was, but I know that it wasn’t soy. It wasn’t supposed to be soy, anyway.

Now, I understand that they might not use butter to fry the sandwich. I also understand that crappy, cheap-ass nasty cheese melts way better than really expensive, fancy, local happy cow cheese. But my Kraft singles, wonder bread, and margarine grilled cheese should not be more flavorful, better textured, and more soulfully fulfilling than some $5 piece of shit I bought at 2 in the morning.

That is all.

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