Who in the fuck do you think you are? Is it God? Is that who you think you are? Because that’s the only explanation I can think of for why you passed me up in favor of Whole Kernel Sweet Corn as a side dish for your meal tonight.
Now, I’ve got nothing against Whole Kernel Sweet Corn. I’ve spent a few weeks with him in the cupboard, and he seems like a really stand-up guy. Hell, if you add some butter and a little salt to him, I’m sure he’ll keep a big-ass smile on your face long after he has moved into your intestinal tract. What I do have a problem with, however, is the fact that Whole Kernel Sweet Corn has only been in the cupboard for three fucking weeks, while I’ve been languishing amongst the other forgotten canned goods for going on three years.
Is it because I’m “mixed”? If that’s the case, then you, my dear, are a hate-mongering bigot. This great nation in which we live has long been considered a melting pot of different races, ethnicities and nationalities. I assumed you purchased me with that very spirit of inclusion and brotherhood in mind. I should have known better. After all, you did tell Leslie Tambert that the Pakistani family across the street made the whole neighborhood “smell like a third-world abortion clinic.” Not cool.
What I don’t understand is why you even bought me in the first place, if you didn’t intend to include me in your meal planning at some point. Was I a food-shelf purchase that never made it into your charity bag? Did my claims of low sodium and no cholesterol blind you from your true feelings about combining corn, peas, carrots, potatoes, celery, lima beans, and cut green beans? Or do you just like to exert your power on canned goods in the same way you emasculate your husband in front of your children?
Do me a favor. Next time you make Hamburger Helper and claim that it was an “old family recipe,” don’t count on me to back you up. I only bend the truth for friends. And you, bitch, are nothing but an ugly, fat-assed phony. I’d just as soon be served to crows than ever find myself in your disgusting trash-bin of a mouth.
Oh, and by the way, you left the cupboard door open last week, and I saw your daughter Anna having super rough sex with that skeezer boyfriend of hers on you beautiful new granite countertop. Sure, I could’ve told Anna to make sure her boyfriend put on a condom before violating her privates, but I decided to pass on that. Just as you decided to pass on choosing me as a tasty and healthy side dish for you meal tonight.
Enjoy your corn, Bitch!