No, I'm not stupid enough to poach on Norbizness' preserve, any more than I'd have tried to get my 67 MPH fastball past Ted Williams. Just relaying a domestic conversation with my Poor Wife over this morning's paper:
PW: Jesus, Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper! What's next?
DR: You didn't let me finish. Chipotle Chicken Caesar.
DR: Think it comes in Diet?
You haven't lived till you've eaten a pint of chipotle mayonnaise.
And you can sneak all the fastballs you want past the Splendid Splinter now, even he can't defeat the laws of cryogenics.
The idea of Chicken Chipotle Caesar Dr. Pepper may well have killed my appetite for dinner. Well played, Doghouse, well played.
You know what's really scary? That sounds just like my husband and me.
Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper comes in diet (though not alfredo). It's actually not bad.
But then, we eat all kinds of weird stuff in my home. "Stir Fried Tater Tots And Spam with Pineapple Chunks and Sweet and Sour Sauce" is on tonight's menu.
Commence the nausea!
The Daily Pepper is appalled at the connection of that sacred moniker and "Chipotle Chicken Caesar."
'Cause then, I might have to rename the blog Daily Chipotle Chicken Caesar Pepper, and that's unwieldy.
There's a restaurant near my office that will deliver a chipotle chicken caesar. Salad, though, not coke. Just saying.
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