You know, I'm sure this whole "miracle fruit" thing is cool and all, but flavor tripping parties? Really, New York? Is this what you've been reduced to now? And they're hosted by a 32-year-old lawyer who calls himself Supreme Commander? Really?
"'You pop it in your mouth and scrape the pulp off the seed, swirl it around and hold it in your mouth for about a minute,' he said. 'Then you’re ready to go.' He ushered his guests to a table piled with citrus wedges, cheeses, Brussels sprouts, mustard, vinegars, pickles, dark beers, strawberries and cheap tequila, which Mr. Aliquo promised would now taste like top-shelf Patrón."
This reminds me of when I was in 9th or 10th grade and none of my degenerate friends could get weed or any other actual drug, so we were all reduced to huffing model glue or carpet cleaner (before they changed the formula), but at least that dumb shit got you high, you know? This is just paying some lawyer dude $15 to make stuff taste like other stuff.
A part of me wants to believe this isn't real, that some enterprising but naive New York Times reporter just got played for a fool. But in a world where oxygen bars and steampunk still exist, I'm not getting my hopes up.
7 comments:
A) Yes, this is gay
but
B) You're just mad because in a year some dude in Philly called Second-in-Command will be charging four fiddy to make Kool-Aid taste like Gatorade.
weird...uh..yeah, that's all I have to say about that.
I'd like to try me some of dat froot.
My favorite is that the protein is called Miraculin. And somewhere, a comic book creator stares at the heavens and screams, "why, Lord, whyyyyy!!!" as the origin story of his Super Hero Miracules is fatally compromised.
A basket of this fruit with complete directions would make a lovely wedding gift - for those modern girls that are seniors in college and working part time and fulfilling a practicul. She could burn whatever well intended meal she planned, serve the fruit as an appetizer, and still be a fabulous little cook in the kitchen in her new man's eyes. If only she doesn't poison him with her good intentions. Oh, well, the ambulance is merely blocks from their apartment.
Am I the only person who conjures up dirty scenarios involving this fruit and random things that taste random ways?
Umm, by random things I mean punanee. And cock. In case you were wondering.
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