Hostile weakness at the Preakness

Waitress? Yes. No, everything was not to my satisfaction. We've been here an hour and have not received our entrees. Yes, I think you'd better clear these plates. Notice we've hardly touched them. Your Greek salad, frankly, was not unlike the fetishization of Nazi culture. There's nothing sexy about it. It was bland, rubbery, and left a putrid aftertaste of quicklime. And this. How can a smoothie taste scalded? I don't know, but you sir have done it. Might I suggest a cooking class? Or perhaps finding a donor from the Nobel Prize sperm bank, so your children stand a chance of inheriting talent?