My stepdad once made coleslaw that smelled like burnt rubber. Me and my siblings told him that we would not eat the coleslaw, it would taste like burnt rubber. And he tried to convince us that since we had never eaten burnt rubber before in the past, that we couldn’t possibly know what burnt rubber tastes like, and therefore we should eat the coleslaw.

It turned into an hours-long argument about how you don’t have to actually eat burnt rubber in order to know what burnt rubber smells like, and that there’s no good reason for coleslaw to smell like burnt rubber.

In the end, me and my siblings won, and we did not eat the coleslaw, but I don’t understand how you can cook coleslaw… no, wait, you don’t even cook coleslaw!

I don’t know how you can prepare coleslaw so poorly as to have it smell like burnt rubber, and I don’t know how you can be so married to your burnt rubber coleslaw that you would attempt to force children to eat it, regardless of the fact that it smells like burnt fucking rubber.