Thread: I just ate a lot of chocolate covered raisins. AMA

Stouffers

We'll do it live!!
 
Bought a jug of chocolate covered raisins at Sam’s Club. Ate about a quarter of the container.

Prepared to answer anything you might throw at me.
 
Was it that tasty or did you just want to get ready to hibernate for the summer?
 
Bought a jug of chocolate covered raisins at Sam’s Club. Ate about a quarter of the container.

Prepared to answer anything you might throw at me.
prepare-yourself.jpg


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Were you constipated before hand, and are you prepared for how absolutely not you're going to be soon?

Also I now want chocolate raisins. Love those little buggers.
 
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Were you constipated before hand, and are you prepared for how absolutely not you're going to be soon?

Also I now want chocolate raisins. Love those little buggers.
No constipated and my current poop seems normal in both quantity and viscosity.
 
Which part did you enjoy most - the chocolate or the raisin? Prefer answer in long form essay format if possible.
 
Which part did you enjoy most - the chocolate or the raisin? Prefer answer in long form essay format if possible.
When I was a child, all I wanted to be when I grew up was the fifth member of the California Raisins. I spent months practicing the triangle and dehydrating my body in hopes they’d accept me into their exclusive group. I wrote hundreds of letters, created several audition tapes, and even died my wrinkled dry skin a deep purple, but they never responded.

The rejection hit me hard. I was so distraught, I had to quit elementary school and move in with my uncle in California. He owned a muscadine vineyard and needed the help. For years he had worked the land himself, but was in the mid-stages of renal failure due to his multi-decade chocolate addiction. The doctors told him one more hit of cocoa and that would be it.

For the first few weeks, I found the tedious process of picking and pruning to be the perfect way to forget about the California Raisins and the scar they had left on my soul. Everything was going great until we hit the hottest part of summer. I was eating a Hershey bar while on my morning rounds when I noticed a number of grape bunches had shriveled.. turned to raisins.

In a white-hot flash of pure emotion, it all came flooding back: The pain, rejection.. the devastating humiliation hit all at once. Like a man possessed, I ran through the vines ripping the dried grape-husks from their green umbilicals. They were all laughing at my failure.. mocking me.. I had to destroy all the raisins.

At 120 acres, there was no way I could complete the purge before my uncle returned from his weekly dialysis treatment. I had an idea: I would load up uncle’s old crop duster with lye and rain death from above to every living plant on the vineyard.

As I was making my final preparations, uncle came home early. He saw the plane, lye and the crazed look in my eyes.. he knew I was about to do something that would cost him his family’s legacy. He picked up a hoe that had been handed down to him from his father and lunged at me. Thinking fast, I took a raisin that had fallen into my overalls front pocket, smeared it with chocolate from the Hershey bar wrapper and flicked it into uncle’s open mouth.

He stopped dead in his tracks and muttered “what have you done?” He collapsed in a heap on the dusty hanger floor and I could hear the distinct sound of his kidneys popping. He was gone. The chocolate covered raisin had killed him.

I buried my uncle that day amongst the salted ruins of his once grand muscadine vineyard. I told the authorities an Austrian had did it and no further inquiries were made. I caught a boxcar back home and my parents accepted me back into my old life. I burned all my California Raisin paraphernalia in a barrel behind the house. I had reached catharsis. The illness had left me.

So to answer your question JORMBO, I enjoy neither the chocolate nor the raisins, but rather consume a full container at least once a year in honor of my uncle’s involuntary sacrifice for my mental health.
 
When I was a child, all I wanted to be when I grew up was the fifth member of the California Raisins. I spent months practicing the triangle and dehydrating my body in hopes they’d accept me into their exclusive group. I wrote hundreds of letters, created several audition tapes, and even died my wrinkled dry skin a deep purple, but they never responded.

The rejection hit me hard. I was so distraught, I had to quit elementary school and move in with my uncle in California. He owned a muscadine vineyard and needed the help. For years he had worked the land himself, but was in the mid-stages of renal failure due to his multi-decade chocolate addiction. The doctors told him one more hit of cocoa and that would be it.

For the first few weeks, I found the tedious process of picking and pruning to be the perfect way to forget about the California Raisins and the scar they had left on my soul. Everything was going great until we hit the hottest part of summer. I was eating a Hershey bar while on my morning rounds when I noticed a number of grape bunches had shriveled.. turned to raisins.

In a white-hot flash of pure emotion, it all came flooding back: The pain, rejection.. the devastating humiliation hit all at once. Like a man possessed, I ran through the vines ripping the dried grape-husks from their green umbilicals. They were all laughing at my failure.. mocking me.. I had to destroy all the raisins.

At 120 acres, there was no way I could complete the purge before my uncle returned from his weekly dialysis treatment. I had an idea: I would load up uncle’s old crop duster with lye and rain death from above to every living plant on the vineyard.

As I was making my final preparations, uncle came home early. He saw the plane, lye and the crazed look in my eyes.. he knew I was about to do something that would cost him his family’s legacy. He picked up a hoe that had been handed down to him from his father and lunged at me. Thinking fast, I took a raisin that had fallen into my overalls front pocket, smeared it with chocolate from the Hershey bar wrapper and flicked it into uncle’s open mouth.

He stopped dead in his tracks and muttered “what have you done?” He collapsed in a heap on the dusty hanger floor and I could hear the distinct sound of his kidneys popping. He was gone. The chocolate covered raisin had killed him.

I buried my uncle that day amongst the salted ruins of his once grand muscadine vineyard. I told the authorities an Austrian had did it and no further inquiries were made. I caught a boxcar back home and my parents accepted me back into my old life. I burned all my California Raisin paraphernalia in a barrel behind the house. I had reached catharsis. The illness had left me.

So to answer your question JORMBO, I enjoy neither the chocolate nor the raisins, but rather consume a full container at least once a year in honor of my uncle’s involuntary sacrifice for my mental health.
What colour was the barrel? How old was it?
 
When I was a child, all I wanted to be when I grew up was the fifth member of the California Raisins. I spent months practicing the triangle and dehydrating my body in hopes they’d accept me into their exclusive group. I wrote hundreds of letters, created several audition tapes, and even died my wrinkled dry skin a deep purple, but they never responded.

The rejection hit me hard. I was so distraught, I had to quit elementary school and move in with my uncle in California. He owned a muscadine vineyard and needed the help. For years he had worked the land himself, but was in the mid-stages of renal failure due to his multi-decade chocolate addiction. The doctors told him one more hit of cocoa and that would be it.

For the first few weeks, I found the tedious process of picking and pruning to be the perfect way to forget about the California Raisins and the scar they had left on my soul. Everything was going great until we hit the hottest part of summer. I was eating a Hershey bar while on my morning rounds when I noticed a number of grape bunches had shriveled.. turned to raisins.

In a white-hot flash of pure emotion, it all came flooding back: The pain, rejection.. the devastating humiliation hit all at once. Like a man possessed, I ran through the vines ripping the dried grape-husks from their green umbilicals. They were all laughing at my failure.. mocking me.. I had to destroy all the raisins.

At 120 acres, there was no way I could complete the purge before my uncle returned from his weekly dialysis treatment. I had an idea: I would load up uncle’s old crop duster with lye and rain death from above to every living plant on the vineyard.

As I was making my final preparations, uncle came home early. He saw the plane, lye and the crazed look in my eyes.. he knew I was about to do something that would cost him his family’s legacy. He picked up a hoe that had been handed down to him from his father and lunged at me. Thinking fast, I took a raisin that had fallen into my overalls front pocket, smeared it with chocolate from the Hershey bar wrapper and flicked it into uncle’s open mouth.

He stopped dead in his tracks and muttered “what have you done?” He collapsed in a heap on the dusty hanger floor and I could hear the distinct sound of his kidneys popping. He was gone. The chocolate covered raisin had killed him.

I buried my uncle that day amongst the salted ruins of his once grand muscadine vineyard. I told the authorities an Austrian had did it and no further inquiries were made. I caught a boxcar back home and my parents accepted me back into my old life. I burned all my California Raisin paraphernalia in a barrel behind the house. I had reached catharsis. The illness had left me.

So to answer your question JORMBO, I enjoy neither the chocolate nor the raisins, but rather consume a full container at least once a year in honor of my uncle’s involuntary sacrifice for my mental health.
I bet everyone thought this was a spam thread before getting the emotional back story.
 
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