A spaghetti saved is a spaghetti served
I’m The Leftover Spaghetti You Tossed In The Trash!
Your culinary incompetence has shattered my dreams.
Life as spaghetti is not easy. With such a long shelf life, I wonder if I am destined for centuries at the back of a dark cupboard or immediately crafted into a dish worthy of my forebears. Yet my dreams have been shattered by a reckless amateur cook who cannot grasp the concept of portion control.
From the moment I was packaged, I knew I was going to make a difference in the world. I had visions of myself surrounded by starving children, all pointing at me with forks, chanting my name. I was going to be a hero, the carbohydrate messiah.
But alas, my fate was sealed by your culinary incompetence, a human who couldn’t decipher the packaging despite the crystal-clear quantity guidelines in font size 72. You chose to disregard them, carelessly tossing more and more spaghetti into the pan. You showed no regard for my aspirations or the starving children.
As the unfortunate claustrophobic strand at the bottom of a mountain of starch, I was denied the chance to fulfill my potential. I could smell the beef ragu and parmesan. Oh, the indulgence that could’ve been!
