We Rang The Bell Anyway

We had Arby's for dinner tonight. And I wondered - as I always do when I'm eating Arby's - if perchance someone had jizzed in the horsey sauce. 

That bothers me. 

But not enough to not eat there. Occasionally, Reader. Not all the time. I don't like a jizzy roastbeef sammy all the time. 

I mentioned my jizz-in-the-sauce concerns to My Mister. 

He looked at me with "what the fuck?" eyes. 

And then I continued to spread the jizzy sauce on my bun and idly comment, "Well, it's not like I've never had jizz in my mouth before, so I guess what's the big deal."  

He informed me I was pretty fucked up. 

And then we both dipped our curly fries in the potentially-jizzy sauced and continued with our Friday night date night dinner. 

The End. 

And I'm sorry for that. 


**The Arby's by our house has two giant bells and you can tug on the rope and ring them loudly if you've had great customer service. I cannot resist ringing the hell out of that bell on my way out. Tonight I rang it so enthusiastically I think I went a little deaf in my left ear.  I wanted to thank them immensely even if I did have a jizzy sandwich. Because I probably didn't. Probably.