I ran into a friend of mine the other day. We started discussing  what we had for lunch.

"What did you have for lunch?" asked my friend.

"I didn't have much time for lunch, so I just ran into Taco Bell and

got 3 soft tacos, a burrito and some pintos and cheese. I know I'll

pay for it later, but it's just so damn good! What did YOU have for

lunch my friend?"

"Dolph Lundgren," my friend replied.

I blinked.

"I'm sorry; did you just say you hadDOLPH LUNDGREN for lunch?"


"Rocky IV, Universal Soldier, scores of bad B-moviesTHAT Dolph



"Oh, you had him OVER for lunch. Cool!"

"No. He was quite tasty. I simmered chunks of Dolph in a Crock Pot

with russet potatoes and baby carrots."

The words CHUNKS OF DOLPH bounced around in my head. I couldn't

believe what I was hearing. I looked into my friend's eyes,

searching for any sign of jest. There was none. This was a serious

conversation; Dolph Lundgren had been reduced to the level of Chef

Boy-Ar-Dee Beef Ravioli. I then realized I am now a witness to a

murder I had heard a confession of a heinous act. Was I now in

danger? Would I have to be eliminated in order to keep the Dolph-in-

crock-pot secret secret? Am I destined to be lunch someday? I

pondered my next move.

"Any left over?"

"Sure. Wanna come over for a taste?"

I agreed. If I'm going to be an accessory, I might as well enjoy the

fruits of the situation. Besides, Bridgette was an awesome cook, and

I had no doubt that she probably increased Dolph's worth more than

any of his crappy movies ever did.