I may wish to present, in my opinion, the saddest food. It is a delicacy in the southern part of South Korea. It is, of course, live baby octopus.
You only need one chopstick for it, really. You put your chopstick beside the baby octopus, and it wraps its tentacles around the chopstick, allowing you to lift it to your mouth. Then you pop the whole thing in your mouth in one go, and start chewing like mad.
Why chew like mad? Because it's fighting you, trying to escape the whole time. You can feel the suckers on your tongue, on your cheeks, trying desperately to escape your jaws.
But it will fail. And you will swallow it.
Hot Pockets: Hot Pockets are sad, but it's a mere listlessness, not true and deep depression.
Microwave Burritos: These are really sad. If you find one that doesn't taste like ass -- and some do taste okay -- the filling is inevitably gray. The beef varieties always have gristle of despair, though, so the bean versions are slightly less melancholic.
Banquet Meals: The dollar TV dinners. They are sad by association, though in and of themselves they vary in sadness. Anything involving cheese sauce is a tragedy.
1.) Eat the Spam Single.
Soggy chips get my vote. What is normally crisp and warm becomes cold and starchy. The salt falls off as well, so you're essentially eating fatty potato segments. It seems like a metaphor for something, but I don't know what.
A cold lump of margarine hastily and destructively smeared on a heel piece of white bread.
Hot Dog Soup.
You boil a case of hot dogs, strain the water out and eat that with crackers. Then you save the hot dogs and eat them for the next few meals.
A can of uncooked Spaghetti-Os, eaten with your hands in a cold shower.
My meal a few hours ago was a packet of tuna and a glass of water, eaten alone, while reading this forum.
Ferguson's long arm of the law laments the latest cutback.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
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