Whenever I’m rocking the old chef’s knife on a fresh white onion, I like to pretend I’m an incredulous doctor preforming exploratory surgery on an alien species for the first time, recording my thoughts into an imaginary tape recorder (Yes, tapes. I’m a very old doctor and stuck in my ways. Goddamned technology is ruining society! I remember when we didn’t even use anesthetic, they just sliced you open like a MAN!), reveling in the absurd discovery of the onion’s insides. It’s cathartic to release like that, to give away to the world of pretend, embracing your inner child, or, more honestly, crazy person.
“Subject presented with a unique case of flaking dandruff. After initial scrub and cleanse, the outer flake shell broke off on its own. I can only conclude the husk provides some sort of protection. Deeper analysis into the creature’s makeup is necessary. I’m making the first cut now, a vertical incision along the creature’s center axis. The skin gives way easily, peeling back, revealing… MORE ONION? Holy shit! I’ve never seen a creature like this before. Dual layers of skin. Quite an evolutionary quirk! I need to explore deeper. But first, the top most layer of skin must be completely removed. Forceps, please.”
Which makes me realize I would be a HORRIBLE doctor. You’re really not supposed to remove the entirety of your subject’s skin just because you’ve noticed something interesting inside of them. Imagine if you did that to a human. “Oh, looks like you’ve got a unique bone spur on your heel there. We’re going to have to remove all of your flesh to get a better look.” That’s basically what I do to the onion. That’s not real Hippocratic oath-y of me, so I inevitably switch roles, transforming into an interrogator, a real rule-ignoring bastard of a man, for a secret shadow government agency.
“TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW. Don’t make me remove your second layer of skin, White Onion. We know you have the codes! WE KNOW YOU HAVE THEM. Oh playing tough and silent, huh? WELL I’VE GOT THE KEY TO UNLOCK YOUR ASSHOLE, BUTTHEAD. And by asshole, I mean mouth, because you’ve got a butt for a head. THERE’S PLENTY MORE WORDPLAY WHERE THAT CAME FROM. Nothing? Then it’s time to rip off your skin and… OH MY GOD MORE ONION. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
But by that point the onion has gotten to me, and my eyes start welling up. You don’t ever see any black-hearted bastard torturers with tears in their eyes, do you? No, of course not. There ain’t no empathy in the torture game. So I have to switch again, this time taking on the role of a heartbroken woman, having arrived home to find her husband tortured to death after a botched surgery.
“White Onion, honey, are you home? I picked up brisket at the market.I know it’s your fav – OH MY GOD! WHITE ONION? Oh no… oh no, no, no, no! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! WAKE UP YOU SON OF A BITCH! WAKE UP!”
And that’s about the point in time when I realize I’ve gone too far… again. I need to stop playing with my food.