Death By Radish

'Kay, so...
I'm at school this morning, on a break, and Genna, the evil wench who sits two people down from me on the "Cool Kids' Wall" talks about how Erin, my li'l pumpkin who sits betwixt us and is another member of the Kids on the Wall, gave her radishes to snack on.
Radishes?
To snack on?
Huh?
I = confused
Apparently, I had never had a radish before.
That sort of thing happens often to me.
I was 18 the first time I ever ate a pickle.
I was 15 the first time I ever ate an egg, ever.
Seriously! I'm not kidding.
So the evil, horrible Genna gives me a radish.
I think, why not? It's a vegetable, how bad could it be?
I bite into it, and I say, "hmm...interesting...I don't really enjoy this very much, and I don't think I'll be snacking on radi....HOLY CRAP I'M ON FIRE!!!!"
Why the hell would something like that exist in nature?
I don't eat spicy foods. I CAN'T eat spicy foods. It causes me physical pain and burns my mouth. Who the hell enjoys eating shit that burns like a thousand white-hot suns?
The nasty, wicked old Genna knows that I can't eat spicy foods, yet she still allowed me to eat the radish. She said, "It just needs some salt."
Of course, I had no milk handy to soothe my pain, so I drank about a liter of water to try to put out the raging inferno scorching the inside of mouth.
That was not pleasant.
So then I told the wretched, mean-spirited Genna (who from now in perpetuity will be colored brown in my blog because it reminds me of the poo that I wish to fling at her) in my most intimidating voice, "ohhhhhhh...you are SO getting blogged about!" complete with squinty-eyed stares and finger pointing.
I love how that has become a viable threat.