Liver pâté

         "Ai, mi mas favorito del mundo. Is it pâté de fois gras?"

No, it is not.

         "Is it mousse truffle pâté?" 

No, it is not.

        "Well what is it then? I am tired of guessing. I don't like these little guessing games you do all the time. Just tell me what it is."

Liverwurst.

        "Omg. Gag. Gross me out." 

No. It is. It's all the same stuff. The store was out of fancy pants pâté. The people there don't buy it anyway. They aren't out from selling so much, they are out due to pâté-desuetude. This spread will just have to do. This is for the president of the United States which is similar to pharaoh of Egypt except only 100X more intense and this time the guy's name is Donald Trump and he eats things like potato chips, taco bowls, steaks well done, diet Coke and two scoops. 

        "Two scoops of what?"

Of anything! When everyone else gets only one scoop. The unfairness of it is so obvious. OMG, are you kidding? That right there is indicative of the man's entire life. It shows people all around the man stooping to curry favor in small ways. In ALL ways. That right there is just so galling. 

        "Calm down. It's only liverwurst." 

Look at it this way. This pâté is for the pharaoh of the United States of America who doesn't appreciate the difference between a steak cooked properly and a steak overcooked by a hungover drunk who fell out of bed scratched his butt and said, "Let's fry this dead cow meat." 

        "This is chicken liver, no?"

Whatever.

        "There, done."

I told you, this is for the pharaoh of the United States of America. Color; bland. Doll it up.

I am really tired of your blueberries. 

Blueberries, strawberries. Standardberries. Isn't there ever anything just a touch more exotic?

You're pathetic. 

Please. Something just a little bit more substantial.

I give up.

Look at you.

Turn.