A long time ago, in a youth long shrouded in layers of dust, I convinced myself that I loved peppers. I loved eating them, I loved growing them, I loved nurturing them and seeing them thrive.
It turns out that I was wrong.
No compassionate being with even a shred of empathy could commit the gardening atrocities which I have rained down upon something that they love.
Last year's harvest was a small handful of peppers, so I'm clearly not doing this to sustain my family or for any nourishment-related activities.
It turns out that literally the *only* logical explanation is that I'm a psychopath, secretly relishing in the anguish which exudes from every plant that I touch. It doesn't feel that way in my brain, but I'm a man of science and the evidence is irrefutable.
Oh yeah. Bask in that desolation.
My aphid minions are finally claiming victory over the last of my black jalapeno plants from last year. The carolina reaper gets an honorable mention for holding out the second longest, but it didn't even produce a single pepper so it can rot in the most desolate part of Hades along with HOA members and people who write EULAs for a living.
Of course, now that the last of my plants can no longer provide me with the paindorphins that I need to sustain myself, it's time for a new crop.
I've dropped 5 Sepia Serpent seeds (I've had them kicking around forever, no clue how they actually look once grown) and 10 more black jalapeno seeds into some moistened paper towel, and I ordered 10 Trinidad Scorpion and 10 Dragon's Breath seeds from Pepper Joe's, and I'll get those going when they arrive.
Trinidad Scorpions were actually some of the first peppers that I tried growing, back when they were the hot new thing, so it'll be nice to get back to my roots, as it were.
A more educated man, being paid educated dollars to listen to my less educated whining, may even draw a link between the trauma caused by ingesting those peppers and my irrefutable subconscious urges to continue inflicting pain upon pepperkind.
I raise a glass with you all! To evil!
It turns out that I was wrong.
No compassionate being with even a shred of empathy could commit the gardening atrocities which I have rained down upon something that they love.
Last year's harvest was a small handful of peppers, so I'm clearly not doing this to sustain my family or for any nourishment-related activities.
It turns out that literally the *only* logical explanation is that I'm a psychopath, secretly relishing in the anguish which exudes from every plant that I touch. It doesn't feel that way in my brain, but I'm a man of science and the evidence is irrefutable.
Oh yeah. Bask in that desolation.
My aphid minions are finally claiming victory over the last of my black jalapeno plants from last year. The carolina reaper gets an honorable mention for holding out the second longest, but it didn't even produce a single pepper so it can rot in the most desolate part of Hades along with HOA members and people who write EULAs for a living.
Of course, now that the last of my plants can no longer provide me with the paindorphins that I need to sustain myself, it's time for a new crop.
I've dropped 5 Sepia Serpent seeds (I've had them kicking around forever, no clue how they actually look once grown) and 10 more black jalapeno seeds into some moistened paper towel, and I ordered 10 Trinidad Scorpion and 10 Dragon's Breath seeds from Pepper Joe's, and I'll get those going when they arrive.
Trinidad Scorpions were actually some of the first peppers that I tried growing, back when they were the hot new thing, so it'll be nice to get back to my roots, as it were.
A more educated man, being paid educated dollars to listen to my less educated whining, may even draw a link between the trauma caused by ingesting those peppers and my irrefutable subconscious urges to continue inflicting pain upon pepperkind.
I raise a glass with you all! To evil!
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