Confession: I hate food words. I hate them as adjectives. I hate them as nouns. I hate them as verbs. Always have.

Dunno why. Dad railed against adjectives, so I do in echo. He never, however, railed against verbs and nouns. But if I am reading a profile of someone and the story includes a description of the person “noshing on a tasty morsel” of anything, I first will throw up on my shoe, then jump to the sports section.

This goes back to high school. Buddies on my basketball team would literally get centimeters from my ear and whisper that the school lunch menu surely contained something “nutritiously delicious.” Their whereabouts remain unknown.

So yeah, I said it. I hate food words. But I love food that thinks it’s people:

Teddy would get into shit, but never a toaster.

Ever been taunted by a sandwich? It’s horrifying.

Sadly, Timmy learned to feed his porn addiction with luncheon meats.

Wow, Trump even yells at eggs.

Why so cerealous?

I gotta be me!

A muffin never forgets.

“It’ll need an exorcism, ma’am. Please hand over the brownies.”

If more vegetables could dab, I’d eat them.

E.T., phone Cinnabon.

Whooo’s a good beer foam? Yes you are! Yes you are!

If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it’s a tomato.

You know you suck at cooking when even your eggs disapprove.

He said he was boiling lasagna, but fucker clearly murdered Grover.

Ever seen food that knew it was food?