Disrespectfully disagree. Syrup is god’s greatest gift to toasted/browned grains with wildly unacceptable proportions of sugar already in them. Drown those fuckers in it. Let them breathe their last oxygen as they wait for my knife to slice, dice, and be delivered into the acid pits below.
The real stuff is great. The fake stuff is delicious. I may not be a strawberry fucker, but that strawberry syrup at ihop is sinful in it’s delectability. The aunt jemima fructose corn goo is orgasmic.
The real stuff rocks my socks, but it’s also too expensive to slather on like I’m greasing my partner before said partner our kid’s pool wrestling matches. I appreciate the disaccharides I can get in industrial drum size. Gimme fake indian plastic bottles that hold diluted mud in them, and just dump em in my feeding trough. Let me squeeze the last drop of insulin out of my poor pancreas before my pumping heart explodes.
Respect, but the real deal is the only syrup in my house.
My six-year-old daughter tried pancakes at a restaurant the other day where they only had Smucker’s corn syrup, and she hated it. She knows the taste of real maple. I couldn’t be prouder.
Disrespectfully disagree. Syrup is god’s greatest gift to toasted/browned grains with wildly unacceptable proportions of sugar already in them. Drown those fuckers in it. Let them breathe their last oxygen as they wait for my knife to slice, dice, and be delivered into the acid pits below.
Whoever downvoted you must not have ever had real maple syrup.
The real stuff is great. The fake stuff is delicious. I may not be a strawberry fucker, but that strawberry syrup at ihop is sinful in it’s delectability. The aunt jemima fructose corn goo is orgasmic.
The real stuff rocks my socks, but it’s also too expensive to slather on like I’m greasing my partner before said partner our kid’s pool wrestling matches. I appreciate the disaccharides I can get in industrial drum size. Gimme fake indian plastic bottles that hold diluted mud in them, and just dump em in my feeding trough. Let me squeeze the last drop of insulin out of my poor pancreas before my pumping heart explodes.
Respect, but the real deal is the only syrup in my house.
My six-year-old daughter tried pancakes at a restaurant the other day where they only had Smucker’s corn syrup, and she hated it. She knows the taste of real maple. I couldn’t be prouder.
but tell me how you really feel
Sugar is a poison, and I must froth for it.