Of all human customs, ritual ingestion of things that are (a) harmful (b) disgusting and/or (c) toxic is the most befuddling to me. Despite the fact that ingestion of mass quantities of alcohol can lead to stupidity, pregnancy, death, public vomiting, and/or embarrassing YouTube videos, you twits still do it. But I’ve found something even more foul, as introduced to me by a coworker: Wheat grass juice.

BLARGH.

I don’t care if it’s good for you. I don’t care about the benefits of chlorophyll. I don’t care about antioxidants. Not when they taste like that. If something meant to increase longevity makes me not want to be alive, I ain’t gonna drink it.

Keep your wheat grass to yourselves, hippies. No more peer pressuring me into choking down nasty pulp in the name of improved probiotics. I’ll just have my brain transferred into a new cybernetic body when I’m done with this one.