An old post at a seemingly abandoned Tumblr site called F*k You, Broccoli is called “Capers, Satan’s little BBs” (NSFW tag is for language, so it’s below the fold):
The following is a true story:
Picture a strapping young man, fresh out of college, sent to the store with his nubile young girlfriend to pick up a number of last-minute items for some family dinner (what the hell, let’s call it Thanksgiving – one of those fancy meals where the cook shows off and no one cares because they’re so sick of being with family already and all anyone really wants to do is watch the Longhorns beat the Aggies or hunker down in the john and have a really satisfying bowel movement or anything else that doesn’t involve eating foods cooked with capers. You get the idea). So anyway, somewhere on the shopping list is the word “Capers.” Which, okay, both the guy and the girl have seen before on restaurant plates, but neither one knows what they are. Some sort of shellfish? A condiment? A savory ice cream novelty?
Well, since the girl didn’t want to admit that she had no idea at all where to look, and the guy wouldn’t ask directions to a water fountain if his dick was on fire, let alone how to navigate a grocery aisle, the adorable pair had no choice but to wander the aisles looking everywhere for a (bag? box? maybe you scape them out of a gourd? how the fuck should I know?) of the thing. After literally 45 minutes of combing every aisle, the girl finally asked a clerk. Who went to three entirely different places before finding them above the pickles. Apparently, they are pickled caper berries, which a) who the fuck knew and b) what the fuck is a caper berry and seriously? Seriously? Anyhow, because of that whole long ridiculous wander the young couple had the chance to really get to know each other in those cute and hilarious ways you often see in rom-com montages, leading to the guy asking the girl to marry him and long story short, they got divorced.
So, yeah, capers? Pointless. Also you taste like a squeaky band-aid and leave an oily stench in the mouth which can only be taken away with massive quantities of tequila. Much like most marriages.
But I’m not bitter.
