You’ll never eat 50 Slim Jims in one sitting they said. Fuck them. They’re always wrong about you, champ.
Ain’t one thing in the wide world can stop you from shoving half a century of meatsticks down your beefhole and you know it. The prophecy will be fulfilled, and so will your animal byproduct starved tum-tum.
Not a damn thing to it but to do it, you beautiful bastard. Hardest part about this will be unwrapping those savory fat cylinders (and the packaging is always such a bitch). After that, you’re home free to slide that mild red tube down your imminently relenting digestive tract, sphincter by joyously receptive sphincter.
So take a big whiff of that greasy pencil-sausage, you hardcore son of a bitch. You’re not afraid. You ain’t skeered. And you sure as hell ain’t intimidated.
You’re ready for the meat product. You were born to eat these extruded flesh simulations. Your body is goddam ready for whatever got caught in the machine this time. Bring. That. Shit.