Run, run, as fast as you can...

I can't eat gingerbread men. Or women. Gingerbread people. It's because they're looking at me. Looking at me, and smiling. What the hell, man? At least be... I don't know... disconcerted about your fate. Don't just willingly accept that someone is going to eat you. Maybe I anthropomorphize too much. But I can't eat anything with a face. I got a latte the other day, and the wonderful barista had done this fantastic foam artsy thing that was a guy sitting and reading with a thought bubble. And I couldn't drink it. I just sat there, staring at my cup, and eventually the barista came over and asked "Is something wrong with your drink?" and I looked at him, and I whispered "It's lovely, but I can't drink it. Because I just know Foam Guy's last thought will be "AAAGGGHHHH!!! HE'S SUCKING OUT MY BRAIIIINS!!!" And if I just stirred him in, his last thought would be "BOOBLE GLUDLE SPORP MACHIG!!!" " Once the barista had recovered from what I can only guess was a seizure, he remade my drink. Without a person in it.

There is one exception to the "No Faces" rule. Gummi bears. I will nosh the shit out of a gummi bear. But not because they're delicious and chewy. No,the little fuckers deserve it. If for nothing more than they are the effigy of a creature that has scared the shit out of me since the beginning of my existence. Bears are scary as fuck. And most people I know (okay - a few girls I dated way back when) talk about how they bite the heads off gummi bears and giggle about how "twisted" they are because they do this. FOOLS! Have you not heard of the Hydra?! Cut it's head off, 2 more grow back? That's some disturbing shit! I'm not taking any chances. That's why I bite the fuckers in half. Right down the middle. Rent asunder. Gummi guts and brains spilling everywhere, carnage incarnate, eviscerated and masticated to nothingness. It's a gruesome image, but it's gotta be done. Not chancing a fucking hydra-bear invasion of the gummi persuasion. 

I also think of them as little voodoo dolls, each one representing a member of the coming bear apocalypse. Oh, it's happening, people. You may not want to believe it, but bears are smart as shit. They must be STOPPED. If I have to eat a million gummi bears, then so be it. I'm doing this for my country!
And my wifey-wife does it too. I'm not sure of the specifics for her reasons, but in one of our first snuggle conversations - you know the ones, where you whisper, and caress, and get punched in the boner for ruining snuggle time with your prodding advances -  she revealed this secret to me, and I to her, and we knew it was love.  Gummi bears must DIE! And gingerbread persons must live. Nothing that happy should ever be eaten. I want to start a gingerbread reservation, where the gingers can roam free, in a land of colored frosting and cinnamon candies and gumdrops and candy canes, free from the fear of being devoured by some slobbery 2-year old. We'll have gummi bear hunting excursions, and it will be grand. Fucking gummi bears.