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| - Me 'n the boys at work were gittin' kinda squirly, it being around lunchtime at all. I reckoned I'd be darned tootin' if I could stomach another Subway sammich, so I put forth a suggestion. "Boys" I said, "howza about we try sumpin' a lil' bit different fer supper this time? I hear there's a nearby gas station that serves up some mean-old gee-ros!" My hungy fellers all liked the idea, as if I was ringin' the chow bell mahself. We all darn near tripped over ourselves packin' into my rig. Once on board, I sounded the battle cry: "C'mon doods... it'll be a hoot!"
And off we sped to yonder fillin' station for some much needed belly-fillin' grub. Speedy Pit Stop was like no other place I'd ever seen. They got fried chicken, they got pizza-pie, they even got ice cream and a whole mess of tater chips and whatnot to choose from. We even ordered our meals in three different languages. I like to call them little Greek stuffed flatbreads a "gee-ro", 'cause it sounds more authentic-like but still 'merican. I guess that's why that day the boys all called me "Hard G". Now, my right hand man Spencey-poo, well he's all fancy-shmancy and says the Greeks pronounce it "yee-ro". And then my other buddies, stuck in their ways as they is, called it a "jy-ro". I guess to each their own.
Anyhoo... we snarfed them gee-ros down, but it took longer than I thunk, because they was packed with meat. And there's nothing I like better than packin' something fulla meat (ya hear me, darlin'?). And we were impressed with the portion size... for only four measly bones per sando. We voted against gettin' the combo dealy-bob so that we could roam the store and pick out our very own bag o' chips and swaggle-juice. Personally, I usually dig on them Funyons... but they give me the dragon breath. So instead I got me a big ol' bagga them Fried Pork Rinds. Gee-ros, good buddies, and fried pork rinds. Dadgummit... it don't git much better 'n that! Ptui... DING!
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