The 17 Condiments: I'd Really Rather you Didnt's
Right from the Meat-hole of the creator Delivered on Mount Paremesean.
Then they lost the power of communication due to a nasty cheese-grating accident.
Horrific. So these are the only rules we possess.
I’d really rather you didn’t act like a sanctimonious holier-than-thou asshole dickbag when describing me. If some people don’t believe in me, that’s okay. Really, I’m not that vain. Besides, this isn’t about them, so don’t change the subject.
I’d really rather you didn’t be a humorless bore. Farts are funny; burps are funny; dad jokes are usually funny. Laugh with people, not at them.
I’d really rather you didn’t use my existence as a means to oppress, subjugate, punish, eviscerate, and/or, you know, be mean to others. I don’t require sacrifices, and purity is for drinking water, not people.
I’d really rather you didn’t treat politics like some sacred spaghetti sauce or a test of loyalty to me. It’s divisive poison. If you must talk about it, do it kindly, with a full belly, and without assuming the other person is the devil incarnate. Make some pasta, help somebody, and keep your blood pressure down.
I’d really rather you didn’t judge people for the way they look, how they dress (except for shoes, with exceptions), or the way they talk. Woman = person; man = person; trans and LGBTQ2A+ = person. Samey-samey. One is not better than the other, unless we’re talking about fashion. Wear nice shoes if you can; avoid a bad shoe game if possible.
I’d really rather you didn’t challenge the bigoted, misogynist, hateful ideas of others on an empty stomach. Eat (pasta), then go after the bastards.
I’d really rather you didn’t build multi-million-dollar churches/temples/mosques/shrines to honor my Noodly Goodness when the money could be better spent: ending poverty, curing disease, fighting to lower the cost of streaming nonsense, or randomly handing cash to people. I might be a complex carbohydrate omniscient being, but I enjoy the simple things in life. I ought to know. I am the creator.
I’d really rather you didn’t treat social media like a holy pulpit for your half-baked opinions. If you wouldn’t shout it in a crowded room full of pirates and penguins, maybe don’t post it.
I’d really rather you didn’t use my name to sell bad food, bad books, or bad ideas. If it tastes like overcooked noodles or reads like day-old bread, leave me out of it.
I’d really rather you didn’t confuse being busy with being good. Take naps. Eat garlic bread. Stop acting like the universe hinges on your productivity.
I’d really rather you didn’t hoard wealth like dried pasta in a bunker. You can’t take it with you, and even I don’t like reheated greed.
I’d really rather you didn’t weaponize humor to punch down. Jokes are for sharing joy, not bruising the soft spots of people already in the colander.
I’d really rather you didn’t make “debate” your hobby while hungry. Eat first, listen second, talk third, and maybe you’ll sound like a human instead of a cranky meatball.
I’d really rather you didn’t treat the planet like a disposable paper plate. You only get one world; wash the damn dish, plant something, and maybe reuse a jar now and then.
I’d really rather you didn’t think you’re the main character in everyone else’s pasta bowl. You’re a noodle among noodles; swirl nicely.
I’d really rather you didn’t mistake cruelty for honesty. Season your truth with kindness, a dash of humor, and perhaps a hint of olive oil.
I’d really rather you didn’t forget that mystery is part of the recipe. You don’t have to understand every spice in the sauce to enjoy the meal.
I’d really rather you didn’t be a humorless bore. Farts are funny; burps are funny; dad jokes are usually funny. Laugh with people, not at them.
I’d really rather you didn’t use my existence as a means to oppress, subjugate, punish, eviscerate, and/or, you know, be mean to others. I don’t require sacrifices, and purity is for drinking water, not people.
I’d really rather you didn’t treat politics like some sacred spaghetti sauce or a test of loyalty to me. It’s divisive poison. If you must talk about it, do it kindly, with a full belly, and without assuming the other person is the devil incarnate. Make some pasta, help somebody, and keep your blood pressure down.
I’d really rather you didn’t judge people for the way they look, how they dress (except for shoes, with exceptions), or the way they talk. Woman = person; man = person; trans and LGBTQ2A+ = person. Samey-samey. One is not better than the other, unless we’re talking about fashion. Wear nice shoes if you can; avoid a bad shoe game if possible.
I’d really rather you didn’t challenge the bigoted, misogynist, hateful ideas of others on an empty stomach. Eat (pasta), then go after the bastards.
I’d really rather you didn’t build multi-million-dollar churches/temples/mosques/shrines to honor my Noodly Goodness when the money could be better spent: ending poverty, curing disease, fighting to lower the cost of streaming nonsense, or randomly handing cash to people. I might be a complex carbohydrate omniscient being, but I enjoy the simple things in life. I ought to know. I am the creator.
I’d really rather you didn’t treat social media like a holy pulpit for your half-baked opinions. If you wouldn’t shout it in a crowded room full of pirates and penguins, maybe don’t post it.
I’d really rather you didn’t use my name to sell bad food, bad books, or bad ideas. If it tastes like overcooked noodles or reads like day-old bread, leave me out of it.
I’d really rather you didn’t confuse being busy with being good. Take naps. Eat garlic bread. Stop acting like the universe hinges on your productivity.
I’d really rather you didn’t hoard wealth like dried pasta in a bunker. You can’t take it with you, and even I don’t like reheated greed.
I’d really rather you didn’t weaponize humor to punch down. Jokes are for sharing joy, not bruising the soft spots of people already in the colander.
I’d really rather you didn’t make “debate” your hobby while hungry. Eat first, listen second, talk third, and maybe you’ll sound like a human instead of a cranky meatball.
I’d really rather you didn’t treat the planet like a disposable paper plate. You only get one world; wash the damn dish, plant something, and maybe reuse a jar now and then.
I’d really rather you didn’t think you’re the main character in everyone else’s pasta bowl. You’re a noodle among noodles; swirl nicely.
I’d really rather you didn’t mistake cruelty for honesty. Season your truth with kindness, a dash of humor, and perhaps a hint of olive oil.
I’d really rather you didn’t forget that mystery is part of the recipe. You don’t have to understand every spice in the sauce to enjoy the meal.