But how can you resist Harry's? From the moment I pull it out of the crackly wrapping, my mouth floods with saliva like some kind of spit-dam has just burst. I feel an irresistible desire to smother my face into its vanilla softness. I breath it. I lick it. When its toasted, I want to become one with it.
The first time I tasted the yellow food o'the gods, my whole body shivered into a spastic foodgasm. I turned to it, gently stroked its edge and whispered "I love you Harry" - and we've been together ever since.
Harry must be an angel. A gift from Dieu himself, sent to relieve us from hunger pains and make our thighs swell with joy.
ALL HAIL, and pass the butter.