Christopher Walken never turns down rolls.

Thanksgiving at the Walken home. Turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing all ignored. Piled high on the plate of the patriarch: Pillsbury. crescent rolls, dinner rolls, hot buttery biscuits, bread sticks, french loaf, pastry bites. A stick of room-temperature butter.

The younger men and women watch him slather every bite. Jealously he hoards his bread. A child is chosen to deliver butter as Walken carves it away, pat by pat. Enough butter to allow each bite to slide down his throat. The family looks on in awe, there own food untouched. The only sound is of wet swallowing. He does not chew.

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