It was a turnip. Big fat fettid gritty root

It was a turnip. Big fat fettid gritty root vegetable. It sat on the Starbuck's counter, pointing it's weird wiry little root tip thingy at

a sign that read "Try Our Tangy Turnip Tea". The hipster behind me in line said, "I like my turnips underground." I nodded, but I was a little stuffy, so I ordered a Tall Turnip.

The chai-ista smirked. "Pip pip, a Tall Turnip for the antique road show." I buried him and the hipster behind me right there and then, under the linoleum. "Enjoy your turnips."

lust for raw tubers was sated. My secret violent obsession with rooty foods was difficult to suppress at the yearly Vegan Jamboree. I lurched past the stands of carrots, cassava,

broccoli, and many other vegetables with a heavy heart, fighting the urge to molest them with all my will. Suddenly, I glanced up and saw- a girl. A girl made of vegetables.

The vegetable girl ran a carrot finger through her radicchio hair - lush waves of purple and pearly white - which fell to her Swiss chard shoulders. She smiled with beet-red lips

& whispered things...dirty filthy things. I wished everyone would just lettuce alone, me & Vegetable Girl. I opened my lid to reveal my ranch creaminess She dipped her celery legs

in & swirled 'em round & round. My eyes rolled back in ecstasy. It suddenly struck me so funny that my mom had to force me to eat my vegetables when I was little. Vegetable Girl

she called me. Was my nickname. But I wouldn't consume them. They were rather unedible, by four-year-old standards.