As much as I'd like to push my snout into every fish gill and fondle every vegetable that comes in the door, I can't — there's just not enough time. Fortunately, my purveyors know me as a dangerously unstable and profane rat-bastard, so if I don't like what I receive, they know I'll be on the phone later, screaming at them to come and 'pick this shit up!'
