Every time someone utters the phrase, "I don't like onions," my face crumples up with hate that bubbles up from my pores and escapes through my cracked skin. If there was a service that specialized in punching a massive number of people, I would single-handedly keep them in business by paying for every last anti-onionite to get socked in the eyes.
I like onions because I'm an adult. You may think you don't like onions, but unless you have the taste perception of a dog, you're full of shit. That's because everything worth eating has onions in it. Don't believe me? Here's a list of foods that onion-haters like, despite the fact that they contain onions:
Pizza. Think your rancorous hatred of onions is sated by not ordering them on your pizza? What do you think gives the sauce its flavor, dipshit?
Burgers. Patties are seasoned with onion powder. Pull your head out of your ass.
Stuffing. Onions make those giant clots of bread worth shoving into your ugly, hateful mouth.
Onion rings. Inexplicably, some onion haters will order onion rings, despite the fact that onion rings are made with onions. "Well I don't mind onion rings." So fried onions get to keep their seat in the front of the bus in your world? You know what, don't eat onions; we don't need your charity.
Ramen. Wow, more onions. It's almost like onions are in everything. Hmm, where have I heard that? Oh yeah, right at the start of this fucking list.
Fried chicken. Keep shoving that breading into your tooth-hole, lardass! The onion-powder in the batter gives your taste buds purpose.
Gravy, BBQ, coleslaw, ranch dressing, etc, etc. Onions, onions, onions. Onions make you feel unstoppable.
Everything has onions in it. I love onions with all my heart and soul. My girlfriend was giving me a piggy-back ride to the grocery store the other day because I didn't want to scuff up my new shoes. She was huffing down the frozen pizza aisle when I overheard some hipster chick saying "Ewww, onions!" I jumped off my woman's back and slid over like a smooth criminal. Her boyfriend shrieked, "dude, what's your problem?" That's when a clerk tossed an onion at me from the produce aisle. I immediately dropped into a handstand and donkey-kicked the onion into the hipster-chick's yapper. She started chewing like a horse and crying tears of joy. She was so happy that she gave me her number, which I drop-kicked out of her hand and into her boyfriend's skull. She asked me how she could ever repay me, and I gave her a stern look. She thought that look meant "suicide." She was right.
She said "I know what I have to do." Then she waddled over to the houseware aisle, grabbed a potato peeler and started peeling off her own face. Then I watched as she slowly ate her face for the next 15 minutes, piece by piece until she bled to death. Her final words to me were "forgive me." I said "no" in sign language, and then she died.
By now the manager of the store had come by and said "Sir, you have to leave." But I didn't hear anything because I was thinking about something else. He then got a mop and tried smacking me with it. I ducked like a drunken master, then sprung back up and slammed him in the chin with my butt. He started crying hot salty tears, so I hopped back on my woman's back to ride her off into the sunset. Just then a security guard jumped out in my way. Big mistake. I shook my head and in one solid motion, reached into my pants, took out my balls, and then in super slow motion, I swung them like a sling and smashed his face. It caused severe fractures to the sinus, naso-orbital ethmoid and lacrimal bones. He required extensive surgery and was never able to fully speak again.
Onions rule.