On Special: Lasagne Vagabonde

The Emotive Response System has long acknowledged the inevitability of banal life scripts to dictate the foolsome footfalls of the feckless. (Whether this is a result of long-term sociological manipulation by the Powers That Be, or its opposite — their own Social Darwinist laissez-faire reticence — will be forever moot.)
  Folks who cannot ascend any further than Maslow’s Ground Floor are everywhere from Skid Row to Town Square. Indeed, it’s all a state of mind, though the topological space and dimension of origin may vary.
  Resource scarcity amplifies perceived urgencies and proper etiquette often takes a back seat to basic heterotrophic pursuits in an ironic form of Refined Gusto. Mirrored archetypes in alternate dementia illustrate sociological knot invariants (extended im-pasta-bilities, if you will) that appear to be complex algebraic tangles when viewed from home dimensions.
  In the end, tautological dicta win out the day: Help, or don’t help; the quantum endpoint is the same. A never-ending scroll actualising iterations of ambient-isotopic reruns (imagine Champagne Charley on a treadmill reliving his intestinal insurgencies), all washed down with surrogate libations like warm buttermilk or watery marinara.
  Not to be discouraged by Calvinist mellow-harshening, the Emotive Response System has introduced Lasagne Vagabonde to said feckless masses via the Coney Pungeonary to mitigate this dichotomous gestalt.
  Enjoy a delicious dish of Hand Pasta. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter.