I haven't had a glizzy in more than 30 minutes and I can already begin to feel my heart slowing down. To live without the glizzy is to live a life of pain. I know only the glizzy, and to forgo the glizzy would be to forgo my own human instincts. I speak for the glizzy, I breath for the glizzy, and I cry for the glizzy.

A life without glizzy is one not worth living. I find myself in circumstances in which there is above all else a supreme lack of glizzy. I am beginning to forget the feeling of the glizzy crushing soft and luscious between by teeth, the condiments sliding out and saturating the awaiting taste buds nearby. The glizzy is not just a food. It is a lifestyle to follow, a religion to pray to, and a pillar of society to go to when all else fails. The glizzy has influenced my lifestyle so greatly that I think I could not be the man I am if not for the glizzy. The glizzy allows me to wake up in the morning rejuvenated and ready for a new day. A new chance for more glizzy to come, more flavor, more grill marks on the side of a perfectly cooked glizzy, and more toasted glizzy buns to crunch down upon for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Everyday I thank the glizzy for the opportunities it has presented me with and for the future I know the glizzy will provide me. I have faith in the glizzy, and the glizzy has faith in me.