Delightful.
There’s a radioactive ore on Superman’s home planet, called Kryptonite.
Achilles’ mother dipped him in the River Styx to give him great strength, but held him by the heel.
My family gives me Ferrero Rochers.
Ferrero Rochers are my ultimate weakness. Lord help us all if they invent a Ferrero Rocher pizza. I cannot help myself when it comes to Ferrero Rochers. I like to think I’m rational and calculating, but everything flies out the window when Ferrero Rochers come to town. No one on this Earth knows the definition of “irresponsible binge eating” until they see my treatment of Ferrero Rochers. It’s ludicrous. I don’t even want them! I don’t even want them. But I will put them in my mouth, over and over, mashing the nut pieces into the notches in my teeth, sliding the hazelnut across the back of my chocolate-burned throat, chewing and chewing, stuffing and stuffing, forcing and forcing, until there are no Ferrero Rochers left.
God I’m just shoving them in, against my will. Faster. Gonna drop that shit on the floor and stomp it with my foot so you can squish it into a syringe for me, I don’t care. Every Ferrero Rocher must be inside me, it has to be within my volume. Like, how even though we have open mouths and canals and shit, we have a “volume” defined by the outer (three dimensional) boundary that is our skin? Ferrero Rochers have to be within that. They can’t be out of it, they have to be inside. It’s like when you find out that Neptune doesn’t have a “surface”, it just has varying densities of gas down until the core, but there’s still an outer edge that defines what is Neptune and what is not Neptune—picture that, but for me, and my human form, and the Ferrero Rochers that have to be inside me.
I don’t let myself buy Ferrero Rochers. I’m banned. It is the single most painful example of willpower in my life. I think about how in X-Men: First Class what’s her face can’t hide her blue Mystique skin and be 100% effective at battle at the same time? Because half her mind is always focused on being not blue? And I think about how maybe that’s why I have so many burrito/pizza/scotch issues because, like, something’s got to give. I have to focus so much on the Ferrero Rochers that I can’t defend myself effectively against other temptations.
I have eaten eleven just while typing this. Fucking eleven. I can take a photo of this box, you will see, eleven. Except by the time I finish typing this and get my phone out and double tap the home button and press the camera icon and line it up and shit, it’ll probably be fourteen. I don’t even know what to do. They’re harming me. My throat is burning from the chocolate, I feel bloated, I’m tired, I don’t want them. I fucking don’t want them. But nothing can ever stop me until they are all inside me.
