Wednesday, December 23, 2009


If you say you like fudge, I say you also like lying. My Great Aunt Joan loves fudge. She's also a psycho who smells like formaldehyde and feet. What is fudge? Not chocolate, not cake, not mousse. It melts a mere three seconds after you remove it from those shitbag tins and wax paper. And the only place to "score" this annoyance is at a phony strip-mall Swiss chalet which also peddles candy apples and all sorts of other weird shit you don't want. Actually, I've never had fudge, but I bet all that stuff is true. Even the word chaps my rawhide. Stare at it for five seconds: Fudge. Such a fat little weasel. Sludge, grudge, pudge, fudge! What really makes me want to ride my bike into a steaming hot tub of toxic goo is when people use it instead of the word fuck. Just say fuck you fuck.

1 comment:

  1. Thou must try the fudge before you pass judgement on it.