Foxavier and Plinka - A Sample

Some people aren't meant to be happy. I don't want to be one. Why did You curse me? Is this a test? How long will the test go on? Did I do something bad in a previous life?

They sure don't make it easy trying to read the ingredients. They print the letters so small, I have to strain my eyes. They purposely used red letters on a pink background to make it hard to read, because they don't want people to know.

So many hot successful women in here, it's pathetic. Don't get bitter, when their eyes shoot out "Don't bother me" rays. Thin people think they're superior. One day, justice. The law will require skinny women to date fat men. They don't have the right to think fat people are disgusting. Their cruelty is disgusting.

And stop obsessing about food. Exercise three hours a day. Must try harder. Must be entertaining. Under no circumstances be yourself.

When I'm rich and famous people will want to be my friend. Then I'll say, "Too late!" You had your chance. You mocked me. Now, who's better? Anyone who likes you, because you're famous, isn't your real friend anyway, especially me.

I'm on to their little game. If there's less than .5 grams trans fat per serving, they can call it zero. You think you're eating nothing, but you're really eating .49 grams. Those dirty bastards. Legally, it's not murder, if you can't prove a specific biscuit caused a specific heart attack, so flood the market with GreesBalz. Poor people can't sue, and it's even harder, when you can't move one side of your body, so poison away.

If we're stupid enough to allow this, then we deserve it.

Those companies feed off us, but then larger companies feed off of them...so you see: it all works out.

A big heart shaped box of chocolates. The wrapper seam conceals the nutritional information. They did that on purpose. This injustice shall not stand. Get the manager. "Excuse me. I can't read the ingredients." She can't either, so peels the wrapper off. I say to the cashier, "Gee, do you think they have something to hide?" The manager hands it to me.

I raise my voice, so all the customers can be educated, "Thank you. . . . Ah hah! Fractionated Palm Seed Oil! I guess they didn't want anyone to know a SCHWEGMAN'S PRODUCT CAUSES HEART ATTACKS."

The cashier looks at the manager. "What are we going to do? I'll take it." She reaches in her pocket for change.

"I wouldn't. Hydrogenated oil."