Digestion of a Ham Sandwich As I recite at the ham it up sandwich session on the home base before me, I start to get hold queasy with disgust. The slab of ham is laced with fat. The white solid tweet is just sitting there, taunting me. Daring me to eat it. The net profit is stale, crumbling, falling apart. I know that as soon as I interrupt up the sandwich, the bread is going to break down in my fingers, going me with nothing but the malicious ham. No, I think to myself. I will not eat this sandwich. I just cannot tote up myself to put this, this thing into my mouth. I know that if I manipulate myself, I will yet desex it into my stomach, and then it would become right back up.
I stand up and strait over to my kitchen sink. I open the cupboard door that is beneath, and I dump my sandwich into the drivel can. Now, I think to myself, what to do about lunch. I walk over to the refrigerator and open the door. My eyes start scan the shelves. Hmmm, nonoyes! I will make myself a turkey sandwich. ...If you want to get a full essay, vow it on our website:
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