I’m not sure of a lot of things in life, but I am sure of this: I could kick this baby carrot’s ass in a knife fight. Now, I definitely have never been in an actual knife fight before. And I definitely don’t have any advanced knowledge of combat blade techniques. There aren’t many men dead or alive against whom I’d be favored in a dagger to the death doomsday scenario. Hell, I’m not entirely sure I could tell to bet the home team in a Ben vs. human baby gambling spread. There are just too many reasons to bet against me. I have poor hand-eye coordination. I once accidentally threw a throwing knife over the top of a tree. I’ve received stitches several times from wildly rampant and irresponsible aim during vegetable dicing. But, fuck that carrot. I could beat that carrot.
Most baby carrots aren’t even real baby carrots. They’re baby cut carrots, meaning they were once fully grown carrots that were sawed down into miniature replicas of their former adult glory. So see that carrot? That carrot’s already a loser. That carrot is a piece of processed produce failure. Society already looked at that carrot and said, “Naw bro, we want you to be smaller.” It’s already lost the most important knife fight of its short lived existence. It doesn’t have the gumption to get up for an edged death wrestle. It’s content to just wait for death by dental disintegration or vegetative rot. That’s how just how it goes for baby carrots. Because, again, they’re losers, not babies at all.
I mean let’s be real here. What’s that baby carrot going to do? Sprout hands? Become self-aware? Run off to the South American grasslands? Meet a mystical gaucho trained in weaponized hand to hand to combat? Learn the ways of Esgrima Criolla large blade fighting? Become a master of sharpened death? Return to the States emboldened by the spirit of the Pampas? Challenge me in the street? Rain steel upon my body? Walk away wordlessly while I curse its orange name with my last dying breath? Retire to a sanctuary on a Nepalese mountainside? Meditate on the emotional and spiritual cost of taking a life? Be interrupted one day by another rooted, vengeful vegetable? Teach that rutabaga how to avenge the loss of its family? Become emotionally invested in seeking justice? Die a gallant, heroic death saving the rutabaga? Float off into the cosmic ethers, having received true enlightenment and purpose? Reincarnate as a god? End war and destruction? Bring true, lasting peace to the universe?
Fuck, no! It’s a carrot. Don’t be ridiculous. I could definitely beat it in a knife fight.