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Joan Fuster

quinta-feira, 15 de janeiro de 2015

It tastes like sadness


You tell me that you love me when I'm lying by your side.
You tell me that I am the only one who understands your fragile mind,
That I am blind to any evil you can do,
And that I love you unlike any other girl could ever do.

You love the things that I love: you love art and you love books,
And you love love as much as I do and you love my dirty looks.
And you love me right now,
So how can you love... Vegemite?

It tastes like sadness.
It tastes like batteries.
It tastes like asses.
I cannot hold a man so close who spreads this cancer on his toast.
It is the Vegemite, my darling, or it's me.
You have to make a fucking choice.
I cannot sit with you at breakfast,
The very smell of it obliterates my senses.
And if that weren't bad enough you also eat the shit for lunch,
Which means we can't spend any time together.
What kind of relationship is that?

The choice is yours, my heart is in your hands...
Please wash your hands
You just had Vegemite for lunch, you selfish bastard.

It’s all about you, isn’t it?
This has nothing to do with the Vegemite!
This is what I’m talking about!
You never actually listen to me!
I can’t take it anymore, it’s all about you!
It’s just take, take, take, take!
What about my feelings, what about me?

I'm sorry.

I had this really traumatic and awful experience when I was six years old
and our British next door neighbour who was babysitting us, um, they had marmite,
which is just like Vegemite, except it’s, like, even grosser, and he made me eat
an entire spoonful of it, but he told me it was chocolate fudge, and then I threw up,
and it was really awful, and I’m sorry I get so emotional, it’s just...

I love you, and no matter what you eat
I'll always love you completely.
I might just always leave the room at meal times
Or refuse to touch or kiss you for a week
If you insist on putting that foul death paste in your mouth.
You're in my heart, but put yourself inside my shoes,
I have to know, it shouldn't be that hard to choose.
I know it's tearing you apart, but it's the way it has to be.
It is the Vegemite, my darling,
It is the Vegemite, my darling,
Put down the Vegemite, you fucker, or I'll leave.

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