I hate cooked vegetables.* I hate them with a passion that burns like twelve suns, covered in hot sauce, in a pressure cooker turned up to eleven. It’s not just their awful flavor, or the worse-than-awful aftertaste. It’s not just the mushy texture - a consistency never found in the best junk foods or confectionery. It’s not just that every time you tell someone you don’t like veggies, they try to give you a recipe that either pulverizes and hides them, like you’re an idiot, or smothers them in some cheese-type substance, like you’re easily corruptible. It’s also that I just plain don’t like them. As former President George H. W. Bush once said, “I’m President of the United States and I’m not going to eat any more broccoli.” Well, I may not be President, but I’m a grown-ass adult now, and so I’ll stick with good old American chocolate-covered fried carbs, thank you very much.
This is not personal - or rather, it’s only personal to me. If you like vegetables, that’s just fine by me. Go ahead and like them, I won’t hold it against you. But just so you know, Hitler was a vegetarian. I’m just sayin.’
Updated Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, till I run out of hate. Tuesdays and Thursdays I answer questions. Weekends you’re on your own.
*Potatoes don’t count. Potatoes are awesome. But if my mom always insisted they were a starch, not a vegetable, and therefore gave me no points toward getting dessert, then fuck it, so do I.