slime is evil: a rant

I like crunchy, sour, and salty. No tapioca. My oatmeal is hot or cold but barely moistened. The best pies (all of which are fruit pies) have no slimy goo between the chunks of fruit. Shoney’s Big Boy strawberry pie — the all time universal worst offender — is anathema. I don’t eat icing or anything Crisco-based, ever. I would denounce boiled okra, except the rest of the world has already done so. I don’t do pudding. Even milkshakes are suspect, although I have been known to appreciate a Wendy’s Frosty now and then. Egg salad is okay, but just barely. You know the chocolate-covered caramels in the Whitman’s Sampler? Firm is fine, but if it’s runny, it’s revolting. I’m like cool hunter Cayce Pollard in William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition, who breaks out in hives when she sees bad design, or unexpectedly encounters the Michelin Man. The drippy slime in a chocolate-covered cherry, gaaaah.

I admit I have a problem.

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