ABOUT PRUNES: read this post for its great metaphors in paragraph 3!
Somehow I have managed to get myself stressed during PRETTY MUCH THE ONLY WEEKEND IN THE SCHOOL YEAR WHEN WE DO NOT HAVE HOMEWORK DUE THE NEXT SCHOOL DAY. Good work, Sara. A+ for effort.
In other news, I went to Michael's and got yarn which I like, and D-rings which I like, and an iron-on transfer pen which I REALLY LIKE. Then I went to Schnuck's and got prunes, which are gross.
I did not know they were gross when I bought them, but they are. They look like those grasshoppers that we dissected in Bug Bio. The ones that were steeped in perservatives and were like the length of my middle finger and were brown and gunky and whose insides had practically dissolved into a soupy brown mush reminiscent of meals served in the elementary school cafeteria. Those preservatives smelled like shit, shit that had been baked in an oven and then fed to grasshoppers, and though I thought this was a one-time occurrence, no, no it was not, it turns out that ALL PRESERVATIVES SMELL LIKE THAT, that the world is fulled of preservatives whose only role in life is to MAKE ORGANIC THINGS NONBIODEGRADEABLE and SMELL UP YOUR HOUSE UNTIL YOU CAN'T SEE STRAIGHT. Even the festive, cheerful packaging could not turn these purple-mouse-brain-shaped-"delicacies" into something enticing.
Plus, then Cordelia told me they are supposed to help you get unconstipated! What if you are a nerdy little girl like me who stays inside the house playing Bookworm on Yahoo! Games all day and is pasty and has a Jane Austen bobblehead on her desk and doesn't know that prunes are supposed to help you get unconstipated and eats them UNKNOWINGLY?
I am not saying there were any ill effects (other than the preservatives' nauseating smell), especially not as related to constipation or negation thereof, but sheesh. What if I had not been turned off by the foul odor and taste and had eaten multiple shriveled sacs of sugar and non-fruit? WHAT THEN!?!?!?!?!??!?
Well, FIE ON YOU, prunes, I say. You will not beat me. As I dissected those grasshoppers staunchly, holding my breath so as not to inhale the pungent aroma of decaying body tissue, SO I WILL DISSECT YOU. Metaphorically.
P.S. Afterwards, my mom and I bonded over homemade veal ravioli which, I assure you, bore no culinary resemblences to the Prunes of Doom.
In other news, I went to Michael's and got yarn which I like, and D-rings which I like, and an iron-on transfer pen which I REALLY LIKE. Then I went to Schnuck's and got prunes, which are gross.
I did not know they were gross when I bought them, but they are. They look like those grasshoppers that we dissected in Bug Bio. The ones that were steeped in perservatives and were like the length of my middle finger and were brown and gunky and whose insides had practically dissolved into a soupy brown mush reminiscent of meals served in the elementary school cafeteria. Those preservatives smelled like shit, shit that had been baked in an oven and then fed to grasshoppers, and though I thought this was a one-time occurrence, no, no it was not, it turns out that ALL PRESERVATIVES SMELL LIKE THAT, that the world is fulled of preservatives whose only role in life is to MAKE ORGANIC THINGS NONBIODEGRADEABLE and SMELL UP YOUR HOUSE UNTIL YOU CAN'T SEE STRAIGHT. Even the festive, cheerful packaging could not turn these purple-mouse-brain-shaped-"delicacies" into something enticing.
Plus, then Cordelia told me they are supposed to help you get unconstipated! What if you are a nerdy little girl like me who stays inside the house playing Bookworm on Yahoo! Games all day and is pasty and has a Jane Austen bobblehead on her desk and doesn't know that prunes are supposed to help you get unconstipated and eats them UNKNOWINGLY?
I am not saying there were any ill effects (other than the preservatives' nauseating smell), especially not as related to constipation or negation thereof, but sheesh. What if I had not been turned off by the foul odor and taste and had eaten multiple shriveled sacs of sugar and non-fruit? WHAT THEN!?!?!?!?!??!?
Well, FIE ON YOU, prunes, I say. You will not beat me. As I dissected those grasshoppers staunchly, holding my breath so as not to inhale the pungent aroma of decaying body tissue, SO I WILL DISSECT YOU. Metaphorically.
P.S. Afterwards, my mom and I bonded over homemade veal ravioli which, I assure you, bore no culinary resemblences to the Prunes of Doom.