“This dinner is going to be so good.”
“Oh hellz yeah.”
“We are awesome chefs. We are foodies now. Har har.”
“Ha. If we ever identify ourselves as foodies, lets murder suicide. I’ll murder if you… oh no wait, I guess that means I’ll also suicide.”
“I’m kidding! I could never murder you. Or suicide. Unless I murdered you.”
As far as I’m concerned anyone who willingly refers to themselves as a “foodie” can expect a kick to the face if they say that in front of me, or at least a severe wince. Oh, you enjoy eating things that taste delicious? Do you also enjoy having sex, sunlight, friendship, laughter? Yeah, we call that being not a “deadie;” you can just call yourself an ordinary fuckin’ human from now on.
I’m sorry but there is just no way any person on God’s green earth doesn’t love Doritos, and if you enjoy eating Doritos you have lost the right to any pretension surrounding food, for life.
So basically, every person ever, for all time.
And you can just go ahead and TRY to convince me you don’t love Doritos. While you try, I’ll lean back sadistically in a swivel chair. I’ll sit in front of you casually munching on a plethora of different Dorito flavours.
“We both know how this will end,” I’ll say.