It was piled high with lettuces, all shapes and sizes.“Salad?” Lana winced. “Really, Fran, you would be that cruel to yourself?”“Dig in.” ... countered with a Mona Lisa smile. I knew my son was up to something.She took the tongs - guests first. Rummaging for a first clot of leaves, her hand stopped suddenly. She turned the tongs and exposed the second layer. “Is that a bone?”“Rib roast salad, with a Cajun butter dressing!” Jerry announced proudly.“Well, aren’t we the enterprising gourmand.” Lana. The rest of my essay is making fun of them poor backward Americans.They are like Russians: they do not know, any longer, the difference between pure propaganda and scientific truth.They are like Russians, every argument only counts if it comes from Putin or whomever is fresh equivalent in power.They just chose 'King of Spades', to be Trump Ace for four years as their new President. Reality beats fairy tale!They only make one single but very crucial mistake Hey Capo, be back in charge and very. More

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