You have an off-putting hue, a quease-inducing texture, and I suspect that you may have been touching poop for much of your life. I have studied you and I am confident that you do not provide any nutrients that cannot be found elsewhere, like Simpsons chewable vitamins.
Like mushrooms, you produce an unpleasant feel in my mouth when I chew you. It’s not a crunch, but it’s not a chewy chew. It’s something in between, akin to what how I believe eating a booger must feel. That’s not to say I have never eaten a booger, but it was long enough ago that I don’t remember the experience in much detail.
Dear raw tomatoes,
As I wrinkle my nose as I peel you from my hamburger, put there by some thoughtless lout, I think about how my mom once told me that you are a fruit. Do you honestly believe that I would bite into you as I would a delicious apple? You’re crazy! Turn yourself into sauce form and lay down on an Italian dish this instant, or get out of my sight.
You sneaky devil. You try to make me think you are lettuce, but I am onto you. My grandma used to boil you and nearly force-feed me to you alongside corned beef for St. Patrick’s day. I am sorry grandma did that to you. She turned me against you and perhaps you deserved better. We will never know.
Why are you considered a good accompaniment to chocolate? You taste weird and you are hard to chew thoroughly. You are out of place on candy. I don’t actually know your place. Anything that is as hard to break open as you should yield infinite goodness, yet you disappoint. In second grade, we drank your “milk” during a luau, but I quickly realized that adding strawberry syrup to you would not cause any improvement. Because of this, you fail any rational definition of milk-producing.
You seem like you should be ham, but you’re not ham. You don’t even taste like ham. I don’t know what you are and the same goes for your Canadian brother. Got off my pizza and stay away from my eggs and toast.
Dear meat of sheep or deer or any other animal that is not a chicken, cow, fish or pig,
Stay in living animal form, please. That is all.
Dear English muffin,
Well, la dee da, you’re not just a muffin. You’re an English muffin. What makes you so special? Peanut butter doesn’t taste any better on you than on regular bread or a bagel. I don’t like prissy food.
I realize that I have hurt feelings all along the food pyramid, but we are going to have to learn to live without each other. As my diet rotates among about ten different meals, I don’t foresee that we will have a problem. I hope you find many happy and loving relationships with others.