Blogs About Whole Foods: There Are Many Like It, But This One Is Mine
Whole Foods is a terrible place. Seriously terrible. Ellen and I went there on Saturday to get stuff for a little dinner party. We spent 90 bucks—Dave Ramsey budget be damned! The emotional turmoil of the place is almost unbearable. There is nothing right about that place, except that everything is right. First of all, let’s talk about cancer.
Whole Foods is all about cancer prevention, whether you know it or not. The people in charge know, but I bet they keep that from their Tom’s-wearing employees. Just like us, they have been duped by these fear-mongering assholes. You might be wondering what the fuck I’m talking about. That’s ok; it took me a while to figure it out too. Everything in there is organic, which makes a person feel guilty about buying non-organic shit. Why would you want organic food? CANCER.
Organic oregano. Why? Cuz you’re you’re gonna get cancer if you use the kind with pesticide. Organic corndogs. Why? Cuz you’re gonna get cancer if you eat the Kroger brand. Peanut butter. Face lotion (That whole industry is based on cancer). Shoes? Oh yes, those too. Foot cancer is a killer. First you get your feet cut off from wearing Adidas or whatever, and now you’re a cripple. Little do you know that the foot cancer has spread to your dick, your brain, and your fingernails. If you’re like me, you don’t have insurance, so you’re going to die. You’ll be so depressed about the situation that you’ll relapse and end up sucking dicks under a bridge to pay for your non-organic Keystone Light. Right before you die. That’s how my brain works anyway.
Let’s not forget the other shoppers. Many of them are fit and all of them are rich and all of them have insurance, though they won’t need it because they buy organic crackers for their fancy organic cheeses. There are all those hot chicks there. Ugh. I hate them. If I were single, I would want to bone them, but I couldn’t because I have taint cancer and no insurance. It’s terrible. You can tell by looking at their asses—not that I look at their asses because I have the most awesome girlfriend ever—that they will never get ass cancer because they use organic ass lotion and do a lot of Cross-Fit.
Here’s my problem: I love all that shit. I want the fancy cheeses. I had this one the other day that was a cranberry chipotle cheddar and that shit was fucking awesome! Their carrot cake is the shit. I want all the meat because no animals were harmed in the killing process. Those chickens probably had iPads with chicken Beethoven and happy brain games. The cows probably had laptops loaded with cow porn. I make myself sick. At least I hate Tom’s, though I would like to give some shoes to shoeless kids in Africa. I’m pretty sure that African soil causes all kinds of terrible diseases like foot cancer, foot AIDS, and foot herpes, all of which could be prevented with some cage-free hemp shoes. I hate myself.
I would like to suggest a boycott of Whole Foods, but those damn low-glycemic index cookies are just too damn tasty. My only suggestion is to smoke a pack or two of Marlboro Reds on the way home. I know that always makes me feel better. Light the first one in the parking lot and blow the smoke on an old ass lady getting out of 7 series BMW.