Call me Dan B.
and pls read how my obsession with
the Fat Elvis
has recently reached levels
that Captain Ahab could relate to.
The most obvious difference
between the object of my desire
and that of the dear Captain's
is mine is readily available and easily found.
Or one would think.
After being exquisitely turned around
and confused by Pink Box's South West location
in the belly of Freddy's car wash,
my first attempt
to capture the chocolate covered novelty
was met with failure.
My search next forced me to traverse the
treacherous Rainbow Boulevard
and led me to a place called
Summerlin.
It had been a long day
and the night sky was upon us
for some time,
but I did not fret for this Pink Box location
is open 24 hours.
And there
sitting audaciously on display
was
The Fat Elvis.
First, I silently cursed at it
before ordering it
and completely devoured it
before paying for it.
The King would be proud
to have his name associated
with this peanut butter, banana,
chocolate delight.
The Captain, on the other hand,
would scoff
at the trivial nature
of my gastronomic journey
(and possibly be mad
for using his name in this review).