I didn’t eat primordial flavored ooze. I didn’t eat ANY flavored ooze. We hadn’t developed taste buds yet. My first taste bud was called “soot.”
In my day, we were damned lucky if the congealed gelatinous radioactive lava that bubbled up from the molten mantle was cool enough not to burn out our throats when we tried to take a sip. OOZE? We ate superheated rock. Primordial flavor? Bah. WE knew WE were EATING red HOT dirt and… WE… LIKED… it!! You know when we ate lunch? Alternate THURSDAYS. And you had ladles? Poppycrock and balderdash. When we first saw ladles, we dropped to our knees, sang hosannahs and worshipped them as gods, by gum. We WAS ignorant lava slurping single celled ameboas aaaaAAAAaaand we LIKED it…
Okay. You guys made me laugh so hard that I had a freakin’ asthma attack. Because I’m poor and uninsured, I have no inhaler, got no treatment, and died. Then my corpse was animated by the spirit of revenge, and I dug my way out of the cold hard ground (breaking several fingernails, thank you), all so’s I could settle the score. Then I tried to get on the internet so I could post a message of warning to make your blood run cold, but they wouldn’t let me in the library because they don’t want me rotting on the books. I had to break into a house, kill the inhabitants, and feast on their brains just so I could get on the freakin’ Straight Dope. Now I’m off to Washington as part of the Million Zombie Shamble, to force passage of the Undead Americans Act, to stop this terrible discrimination. But when I’m done, and after I stop to eat some more brains, all of you are going to pay, and pay, and pay some more.