Mac and cheese is the second-most important of all the food groups, serving as a solid, starchy base for the most important food group: alcohol. Whether it’s a plastic bowl of Easy Mac in a dorm room or a dish of housemade penne drizzled in goat cheese at a fancy bistro, those sexy stirring sounds get me harder than an uncooked noodle. I live by the Mac. And I’ll die by the Mac, too (seriously, back in college, I almost burned down the fraternity house when I smoked hash oil for the first time and forgot to add water to my microwaveable Velveeta). I’d eat that shit at every meal. I can’t stand it when certain pretentious restaurants tell me I can’t get the mac and cheese because it’s “on the kid’s menu.” This is America. I pay my taxes. Give me my fucking Mac, Brenda.
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