[The Flayed One]

Something that's been driving me crazy for a long time, and I can stand it no longer.

I've noticed this little nuance time and again from almost every woman I've worked with/dated/been friends with in general. So subtle, yet it lingers ominously in my mind.

So ladies of HDC, I ask you this: what the BLOODY HELL is up with those little Ziploc baggies of orange crackers?!

They're prevalent in every workplace I've ever seen. I'm not even sure I've ever seen someone eat one of them. Yet there they are, menacing me every day like some kind of evil-culinary decorative soap.

The agony and anguish they cause. I present to you exhibit A: A friendly work conversation turned fiendish.

Female Co-worker: Hey, Flayed! Would you like to share my snack with me?

Famished Flayed: Why yes! Thank you madam, for offering to share your delectable delicacy with me!

Famished Flayed rubs his hands in anticipation, envisioning mounds of beef jerky or perhaps a can of tasty salted cashews. Then, the inevitable bag of offending crappy crackers appears.

Famished Flayed: What the hell is that?!

Female Co-worker (now sprouting horns): HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Seriously, what the hell are those things?