Sweet lebanese cakes. I can't stop eating you. I'm huffing them, I'm eating one and then smashing seven. I can't stop. There's a massive box full of little pieces secretly holding crushed pistachios/walnuts/cardamon/rosewater/honey. I'm in an arabic brothel and I can't control myself. I'm going to be so fat. Armpits are gonna swell and my hair will probably fall out. Legs are getting whiter all ready. Pretty soon I'll be driving a Waverunner and wearing a gold chain from Zamels jewellers. That's what happens when you eat too much cake. Every chubby woman you see with curly hair and a fat paw full of chingy rings driving a 4WD has gorged herself every afternoon on supermarket sponge cake, Auntie Pat's cheescake, and blackforrest atrocities. She does this while drinking a cup of instant cappucino and yelling at her kids to go play out side. This is a fact. I stand by it.
Oh boy oh boy. Chemical warfare.
How bad is my spelling?
I know, I know.