You know what really burns my biscuits? Onions. Or really, just the unpredictably omnipotent power they have, to turn on the eye facets in the most monstrously moatmeal-esque ways. Like how have we not tampered down the firepower of these beastly bulbs, that so perfectly pull together my culinary capers, while ruthlessly pillaging my tear ducts? And why must I play blind me roulette? I find their temperament as unpredictable as, a Gary Busey trip up coke mountain. As the now dearly parted chunk of my finger will tell you, the threat is imminent. This comestible bane of bulbous bitchassness best Take It Down Chris Brown, lest I put some onion powder in my mix and call it a day. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but onions might maim you.