The answer is...

The answer is, of course, yes.

Except no.

The Beginning...

To say that Ronnie Valentino woke up in the morning would be misleading for two important reasons: 1, it was well into the afternoon when consciousness found a half naked, unshaven grot of a man lying in what others would call ‘a pile of filth’ and which he himself named ‘my bed’, and 2, it would imply that Ronnie actually slept. Much more accurately, it would have to be said that Ronnie started becoming vaguely aware of a terribly painful sore and dry throat, a highly acidic taste of bile in his mouth, and a throbbing in his brain which threatened to make him throw something at someone, and that all of this happened roughly around 3 pm on a Friday afternoon.
“Fuck.” He grumbled, and stumbled onto his feet to find a cigarette.
The day was cooling down, but it had been hot; he could tell by the extra soppiness of his t-shirt.
He found his last cigarette trapped in the mangled remnants of a Benson and Hedges pack, and liberated that bent, and curiously damp, prisoner, only to put it to the fire immediately.
‘Still not dead!’ he muttered, and began the search for his pants.

Suitably attired and feeling less like cutting himself, Ronnie poured himself a bowl of Beardy-os, and turned on the TV.
“I just love to wrap my lips around a big, thick footlong and swallow it all down!”
“I love to nibble the end and suck out all the juices…”
“I just have to cram it all in as quick as I CAN!”
“Fucking Manwich!” Ronnie hit the TV screen a sickening blow with the remote control. “No girl has EVER offered to chew on MY footlong! Speaking of which…”
Grabbing his "Manwich - Sausage and Buns Specialist!” t-shirt, Ronnie headed for work while the oversexed voices on TV finished off.
“At Manwich, we’re experts at spreading our buns for your meat. Come have a footlong in the sack today.”
“Fuck I hate everything.” Ronnie grumbled as he slammed the door, realising as he did that he should have turned off the TV...