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wrote this a couple years ago:
Why Sugar Should be Banned
If you remember a number of years ago, on that cold Saturday night when the giant van screamed its unholy processional out of the ether, the vulcanized rubber from around chrome-plated mag wheels smoking like Vesuvius as it licked the friction of the air, flames from the rapidly oxidizing metal of its deadly body trailing behind it like the vaporous tail of a demonic comet come to cauterize the gaping wound of human sin, how on that night we earlier shared a dinner of smoked pheasant, steamed asparagus, and roasted onions, and you trivially mentioned in passing in the midst of a conversation that wandered from Proust to Moliere to Patton to Gregory of Nyssa, that you thought, because of the ensuing and maddening ache in your teeth brought forth by the sickeningly sweet soda consumed by you through a tubular hollow instrument piercing the liquid like a needle being thrust into the tightened skin of a maddened, street-living junkie, that sugar exacts far more harm than it offers help, and that this outrageous substance should be banned or regulated by the government because of the decay and eventual nauseating disintegration of mouth-born skeletal nodes with which we chew the dead for our nutrition, the dental apparatus so necessary for life to be lived as a human instead of a helpless monkey-like pathetic creature, gumming monstrous creations of applesauce and pureed beef until one's insane existance is finally extinguished of which the only witness is an undeveloped immigrant mind changing the rotten fetid bedsheets in the chamber that has become your personal home of misfortune and emptiness.
I remember that night that you wore a red dress. I know that fact because the red of your dress was a complete and preternatural match of the color of the flames of that blasphemous van and its sick entry into our atmosphere from its unknown dimension. I remember noticing that point specifically, that your crimson dress and those hideous flames were of the same diabolical hue, I don't know why I noticed that point so readily, or why I remember so well that I noticed, exactly, but I did, amidst the chaos and surpise of the eldritch burning van entering into our space, amidst the riotous noise and cacophany of its atmospheric plunge, entering our space like some vile cleaver wielded by an insane butcher chop chop chopping through the cattle still breathing in their pens, that devilish vehicle that screamed as though the very unholy dead, banished to suffering in hell these billions of years screamed as one with the cumulative anger of millenia of relentless and unreleased suffering and pain.
In all that miserable experience, my insufferable, heinous self could concentrate but on one devious and insignificant fact: the similarity of your dress to those wicked and pagan flames. Even as the doombringing van drove through you, tearing your insignificant flesh into thousands of wretched and meaningless pieces, blanketing the lawn in an array of blood and gore, the liquid that had given you life now a disgusting charnel ooze over the grass and gravel of the field we occupied with our fear and longing for salvation, still all my mind would comprehend and focus upon was the congruence of hue of your dress and the very flames that heralded and brought about your doom. I blame this catatonic and selfish stupor on the sugar that you had so rightfully vilified just hours earlier, in your precognizant obvservations. You were right. You were right.
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