There I was, participating in this game one calls capitalism, standing around as if looking for something which was clearly, visibly, in front of me. Duped like a cat chasing a laser beam, at this point in time I knew I had to buy it. The duality of man, I’ve preached about it my whole life… self control, why did it decide to disappear during my darkest time? I couldn’t understand what made time seem so uncomprehending. I grabbed it and ran. Before I knew it I arrived home. But like stolen bread, It turned to gravel in the mouth. 

I was at the store the other day when I came across this strange hyperactive phenomenon known as cauliflower food; since eating healthy is a necessity in our society, I decided to give it a try. The box label read, Buffalo Chicken Wing flavored, therefore it’s safe to say that no one, in their right mind, would ever turn that down. 

After I deliberately bought the chicken wings, I drove home wondering why I bought cauliflower drowned in hot sauce. While on the road home, my mind decided to start cracking up the old bolts, which in turn caused me to experience an epiphany. I had a supernatural realization which allowed me to understand that I acted on pure idiocracy when I purchased this item. 

In the end I arrived home and turned the oven on, since these stupid things couldn’t cook in the microwave. After doing so finally I decided to watch Animal House: I figured I’d make a night out of this. 10 minutes into the film, the oven started screaming at me. Naturally I ran to see what it wanted, dejectedly all it communicated was that it was hot enough to cook my food. I then proceeded to make the honorary sacrifice, and tossed the frozen cauliflower in the oven. I would also like to point out that yes, I was literally just cooking frozen cauliflower in the oven. 

About half an hour later, the oven decided my offering was no longer worthy of its hot, burning, sensation; therefore, in layman’s terms, the cauliflower was ready. I took it out and prepared it like some boxed macaroni and cheese. What I mean is, I put it in a bowl, threw in the buffalo sauce packet, and mixed the bowl until the white of the cauliflower could no longer be seen. 

After I penetrated the red marshmallow with my fork, I threw that noun in my mouth. It, as I expected, was a spicy soft flimsy cold squishy bland blob of something that looked like a piece of orange chicken. In the end, it needed salt.