I tried a little something new and different by guest posting over at this place yesterday. I didn’t use the word “vagina” once. Go visit. Though I may or may not have used the word “douche.” I think it shows I’m already trying to clean up my act in anticipation of molding the mind of the vagina vermin. Though how awesome would it be if my kid’s first word was “labia?”
Today I want to talk about something that offends me to the very core of my being. Something that makes me stand up with righteous indignation and shout, “No. It’s too much. I refuse to be a party to such nonsense.” Something that fills my mouth with a taste so bland and non-committal I have to retch. A little something called the green pea.
Yes. I want to talk about peas. Specifically the green ones. The individual garden peas.
I have no beef with the other peas. Sugar? Hells yes! Snap? Bring it. Even black eyed peas are just fine. Hell, I can even tolerate Fergie. She’s at least slightly more humble than the pompous green garden pea, sitting there all round and smug. Little fuckers.
You know what green peas taste like? Disappointment. Mushy, flavorless disappointment.
Which is only exacerbated by their cuteness. I mean, what’s cuter than a tiny, spring green ball, right? They practically beg to be made into cartoons with smiling faces and parasols and monocles and stripper platform heels. And chainsaws.
And when you crush a pea between your molars, it bursts! But not with excitement. Not with a gooey Dr. Pepper flavored gel like that gum I compulsively horded in middle school. No, they explode with chalky, mealy spooge…not unlike the result of fellating a mummy.
Plus I think it’s really presumptuous of them to think that just because of their diminutive size and coloring, I’ll want to shove them in my nose and fake sneeze them at people. Those peas don’t KNOW me. Maybe I’m a refined princess that would never resort to bodily humor. Ping pong balls don’t go making any such assumptions about my other orifices, do they? For shame, peas. For shame!
Have you ever noticed they always travel in packs? If you ever cross paths with a single pea, it’s usually crushed and broken on a linoleum floor or lurking beneath a glob of creamy stuff in the bottom of a pan. The rest of the time they’re a seething mass of green anarchy waiting to barrage your senses with boredom. Never trust a vegetable that can’t stand alone. Also never trust a Ben Kingsley character, but that’s a topic for another day.
Do they even have any nutritional value? I mean, aren’t all the vitamins and shit in their pods? Peas don’t care. Nasty ass Honey Peas don’t give a shit. They just shuck those pods and roll around all over creation buck naked and glistening, showing off their perky little curves.
Just take your show to Vegas, you slutty, worthless peas. I won’t be having any of it. And take those self-righteous green peppers with you while you’re at it.