Scarf Snafu

No, really.

You are what you eat. The company you keep may be telling, but organic fuel is so much more interesting. Less likely to disagree with you, too, unless you're fond of overindulging in high-octane exotics. Ah, the wonders of comestibles, fair and foul...

Let's get this out, projectile-hurl "Calling The Monster" style: I DETEST BABY CORN (hereafter occasionally referred to as The Unnamed). Nauseating shite. Limply congealing in its own slime with its disgusting brethren, by Unname alone enough to turn the stomach, by sight capable of inducing vomiting, of taste most unendurably foul and obscene, and possessing a reek comparable to a botulin-pickled corpse. Can you gimme hallejujah, my brother, and fail to pass the 'corn.' Or do pass it-- as quickly as possible into an unsung watery grave with the lowest grade of institutional loo roll to keep Its Infernal Majesty company.
Speaking of being known by the company one keeps- if I am at a Public Trough {read: Your Nasty Buffet Here} where The Unnamed lies in wait for the unsuspecting, I will do the following:

Not eat the filthy motherfucker, obviously.
"Sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but..." you know what I'm sayin'.

Not only will I not consume the Unnamed Dish, but I will refuse to so much as taste the contents of the chafing dish to either side, for fear of contamination. Really. You can't be too careful.

Even dwelling upon the subject is making me ill.

...urk...