For better or worse, high-resolution pictures of delicious foodstuffs do things to me. (Clearly.) Some of the things are ordinary, some border on salacious, and some, well some just make me earnestly question my own well-being. Here are some things that this meatball hero does to me: Gives me heartburn. Gives me heartache. Gives me loin ache. Gives me a feeling in my stomach that says, "Shh, it's okay baby, melty cheese is here, everything's going to be alright". Makes me jealous of the photographer. Makes me jealous of the chef. Makes me jealous of the man/woman that gets to fellate/cunniling the photographer or chef. Afflicts me with PTSD (Pre-Terrific Sandwich Disorder), OCD (Oversized Colon Displacement), and ADHD (A Distended Hardened Dong). Makes the entire Dirty Dancing soundtrack play on repeat in my head. Makes spirals pirouette in my eyes. Drops my jaw to cartoonish depths. Hangs my tongue from my mouth like Rosie O'Donnell at an all-you-can-eat lezzer buffet. And finally, this picture works its way into the depths of my soul, draining every emotion I can muster for a fellow human being and takes all of that love, and desire, and admiration, and funnels it toward inanimate edibles that will never, ever, ever love me back. Not quite a thousand words. But definitely a whirlwind of emotion.