It Must Be Really Good

So a buddy and I were in line down at the Soup Plantation -- pretty far into the experience -- past the garbanzo beans and the dressings and checkout where we flashed our expired AAA cards so we could save .42 cents on our salad, but not quite yet sitting down to enjoy (I use the term quite loosely here) a salad and some, what seemed to be Clam Chowder but was actually Yankee Clipper Clam Chowder with Bacon -- all of this in the hope that we will make it to the soft-serve dessert with those little baby cones; but at that moment, actually in the soup line, (which, inexplicably, comes after the cash register, for some strange reason) where we both watch as an elderly woman with some bifocals who looks like she came out of the library across the street dips into the "Big Chunk Chicken Noodle Soup," and proceeds to pile mounds and mounds of noodles and poultry chunks into her tiny ladle-handled bowl as the sneeze guard fogs up from her elevated breathing, like a bear near an Alaskan stream munching on some fresh-caught salmon just before the hibernation of winter; and I turn to my friend and I tell him my new term for these voracious John D. Rockefeller wanna-be's of Brentwood; and I tell it to you now so you can register it, start a website and spread it across the far wires of the Internet -- Hogalots -- yes, that pretty much describes them, always hungry, firm believers in the American Dream(s) and all of the plenty that comes with it, including an unlimited supply of overcooked grains and cut-up, canned poultry products -- far more than a normal person (or even themselves) could ever eat...but that's not really the point, is it?