an Open Letter to my deep fryer

Hi. This is kind of awkward, I feel bad. I know I promised that you and I would never to have this talk. Well, we have to have the talk. We had good times, you and I. Remember that time we tried to make Chili Rellenos and the chilis opened up everywhere? What a mess. Those were good times. How about when Tommy Ostrow tried to make onion rings and the batter was too watery and it shot out everywhere? I remember that, that was funny. God, this is awkward. I mean, i rehearsed this in my head over and over again. You weren’t supposed to cry. The thing is this, it is over. My doctor said so, and I do what the man who pokes me in the heiney (for what I assume was medical reasons) says.

It’s not you, it’s me. Well, actually… it is you. You are killing me slowly, and that’s not cool. You could have told me that you were pretty much carcinogenic, I think that would have been good to know. Look at me, I am getting all defensive. That isn’t what our relationship was about. You were a good friend, and I’ll never forget that. Remember that time we made egg rolls for the party? That was a huge hit. Remember the good times, I will.


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