Have you ever gone to one of those buffets? One of those absurdly-cheap, all-you-can-slop-into-your-gullet affairs? The price is suspicious. The instant mashed potatoes taste like they’re cut with sawdust. The meat is gray. The surrounding neighborhood is awash with missing cat flyers. You know what I’m talking about. You go, you feed, and as you leave, having gorged yourself to the point of oblivion, you can’t help but hate yourself and think: This is it? This is what life is? A trip from one trough to the next?
