Journal - 18 September 2000: Fluffy Yellow Doom

"Well?" Well, what?

"Get on with the story." What story?

"Don't play this game. This is a journal, you don't have to recount the first half of the story; the reader can just turn a page back to read it." But it fills space!

"Space be damned, get on with it!" Very well...

I rolled out of bed and begrudgingly clothed myself (Damnable decency laws!). Snatching my wallet, I headed out for a breakfast...of doom! I arrived at Fountain Dining Hall without incident. I entered, and handed my ID to the Dining Hall Associate, who promptly slid my card. I walked through the wooden tunnel, through the portal to culinary damnation. Foolishly, I obtained a plate, tray, and silverware, and made my way to the so-called foods. A few seconds later, an interval of time that will live in infamy, I spotted the Prince of Darkness, in gastronomic form (that's a food, son!). Fluffy, yellow, and inviting. 'Ah, these must be eggs,' I thought to myself. Merciless ignorance, why must thou torment me so? Bah, so I got the egg-crap, along with some hash browns and a link of sausage (assume that all journal entries decrying instant liquid egg solutions can also apply to Fountain sausage links).

The most despicable thing about the liquid eggs is that they simulate real eggs in every way except the actual taste and texture. This is what makes them such a peril. Like carbon monoxide, they are a silent and virtually undetectable killer. I raised one of these godless eggs to my mouth, and bit into it. It was, for lack of a better (or even existing) word, sproingy (/SPROYNG-ee/, adj. Having properties of or relating to the liquid eggs served at Fountain Dining Hall). My brain didn't immediately identify them as vile. That is another aspect of their evil. The ill effects of liquid eggs are logarithmic with increasing quantities eaten (i.e. the rate of badness increases as well as the badness itself). If one defines the causation of a global thermonuclear war resulting in the slaughter of all mankind as 1 on a scale of bad decisions, than the decision to continue eating these eggs hovers around an even infinity.

To make a long story short...

"Too late." Quiet, you. To make a long story short, I was sickened for the rest of the day. Thus, I propose an end to the wasting of resources on inane causes like extending life or the quality thereof in favor of a nearly 100% better-instant-liquid-egg economy. With such a system, the problems of bad liquid eggs would be but a passage in history to be memorized by our children, only to be promptly forgotten pending their test on the Bad Egg Age.


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