(no subject)

I was chopping onions while making dinner this evening, when one of them spoke. It had a little smiling oniony face and a squeaky, cheery voice.

"There is a special pleasure to be had in accomplishing something very important in a half-hearted way," it said merrily, "A pleasure you can find nowhere else!"

I set it free, and frowned, trying to find a remedy to its poisoned logic.

This is why we don't talk to onions.