As if this realisation wasn’t terrifying enough, it belatedly occurred to me that while getting a nice expensive bread was cool, it meant that it wasn’t sliced. And the phrase “the best thing since sliced bread” was a cliché for a reason. In the end I wound up cutting the loaf into roughly a dozen irregularly shaped chunks, none of which could in all honesty be called “slices.” There was the end piece, which had the approximate dimensions of a butt plug. Then the next piece was as thick as my thumb at the top and thinner than my bread knife at the bottom. Then there were two bits that were
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