In today’s installment, I consume a hideous confection so that you don’t have to.
People: if somebody, anybody at all, suggests that you try a dried kumquat, you need to turn your back and run. Bolt. I’m serious about this, don’t even politely decline, the person you’re talking to has nothing but the worst intentions for you.
Foot to pavement and away, that’s your A cut, here.
I ate a dried kumquat this weekend, and let me tell you, it tastes like a greasy hunk of distilled evil dipped in sour candy. It tastes like a chemical weapon you’d use in a war on God. Arlene bought an entire bag of them. She claims to love them; she’s been trying to sneak them up on me all week, smiling like she’s up to something the whole time.
It’s like having an aneurysm in your mouth instead of your brain. Seriously.