Maximum Exposure

Italian and Ranch!

What the hell

What the bloody hell

She could not understand

She could only yell

What the bloody hell

For not too often

Is an order placed

That challenges preconceived notions

Of taste

But upon a recommendation

This is what I had done

And now I awaited a flavor sensation

A welcome assault upon the tongue

You see I ordered my Ceasar

With Italian and Ranch

With Italian AND Ranch

With ITALIAN AND RANCH

This salad would not be ordinary

For it had Italian and Ranch

The waitress was quite befuddled

And scurried to the kitchen in a stupor

She returned with a message

About an in-congruent supper

They could not replace the fries with salad

Nor two dressings could they offer

I explained manifest destiny

And my need for the peculiar

Soon we had worked a deal

It had only cost me a kiss

Soon I would have my salad

And a certain sensory bliss

It arrived in green glory

Covered with two cheeses

It was blessed with crispy croutons

And cursed by tenacious tomatoes

And much to my satisfaction

It had one side of creamy Ranch

And, yes, one side of zesty Italian

As carefully I pealed the dressing seals

The waitress watched with a curious horror

Indeed the dressings both went down

Seeping into every corner

Then with fork firmly in hand

And bravery ringing in my heart

I attacked the manifest salad

And ate every single flavor packed part

(except the fucking tomatoes,

which I dutifully avoided)

--------------------------

A/N:

So this one is off the wall a bit and is a good little truth or fiction tale.  I really dislike tomatoes, except as a sauce, or on a hamburger or in a kochumbari salad (diced tomato and onion and hot pepper and cilantro with a slight salting and lime juice).

So did you like the poem?

Remember to vote.

Peace out,

-DarthPadre