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i will forever hate the sound of corn being husked.

rrrrrrrrrrrrrip. rrrrrrrrrip. rrrrrrrrrrrip.

i think i would rather grind my teeth against a sheet rock chalkboard than hear the customers in my store ripping the shit out of georgia corn. i dont think it would bother me so much if they didnt have to throw the husks to the side, on the floor, in the air, down the road, over the hills and over to grandma's house in their quest for a perfect, silk free ear of twenty cent corn.

im fairly certain a customer will one day ask me if they can husk the corn on my face.

rrrrrrrrrrrrip.

besides, anyone worth a bag of salt knows that unless the corn will be eaten raw, (which, by the way, is the best way to munch an ear), the husk must remain intact in order to grill it to perfection.

rrrrrrrrrrrrip.

i would love to visit these people's homes with a bag of peanuts and throw the shells all over the fuckin' place as i ate them.

"youll clean that up, wont you?"

i suppose a customer would find it extraordinarily difficult to cook their corn with my cock stuffed into their bronchioles.