Oh Bar Qua.


It's been so long since the last time I set my lips on your... sweet, glossy skin.....



All I can think of were the times you would tease me, sitting there in your little transparent TapHerWear next to the Pyne-apell Tartes, with your slightly burnt aroma. You drive me crazy! Some people call you Rougan... but you won't answer to them. No, you'll only answer to me. You'll only answer to Bar Qua...



There were nights where I can not hold back the insatiable craving for the gustatory sensation that you often leave me with.

I would battle through monstrous obstacles to rescue you from the cold dungeons of the RayFriggoRator!!




I'd rip open the package and hold you in my loving hands and you would say, "I'm sorry things have gotten so cold between us."
And I would say, "Worry not my love. I'm here now. Everything is going to be fine."

And with that I would jump on my horse, Amadeus, and race into the forest to find the nearest stove.........




Okay. Lazy to crap already. Basically, what happens in the end is I find a kitchen stove in the Obamas' winter cabin and I heat up the bakkwa and I share it with Barack and he loves it just as much as I do. 20 years after that bakkwa is used as an alternative fuel in America.

See how bakkwa makes people happy?