I FUCKING LOVE RICE
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Rice. RICE. It’s the only thing that matters, the only thing that gets me, you know? I wake up every day, peel my sweaty ass off the futon in my dank basement lair, and the first thing I think about isn’t protein shakes or avocado toast or whatever overpriced garbage you plebs choke down. Nah, it’s rice. White, sticky, glorious rice. The king of all sustenance. The alpha grain. I’d bathe in it if I could, but I’d rather eat it—every damn day, all day, forever.
Protein? Don’t make me laugh, you gym-bro wannabe. “Oh, I need my gains, I need my chicken breast and whey powder!” Shut the hell up. Protein’s a scam, a bloated lie pushed by Big Meat and the fitness industrial complex. It sits in your gut like a brick, mocking you with its smug amino acids. I don’t need your fancy muscle fuel—I’ve got rice, bro. Pure carbs, clean energy, none of that heavy, overrated nonsense. Fats? Don’t even get me started. Butter, oil, nuts—disgusting. Greasy trash for people too dumb to realize rice is all you need. It’s like God took one look at the world and said, “Here, have perfection,” and dropped rice on us, but you idiots keep chasing bacon and eggs like a bunch of braindead NPCs.
I’ve got a rice cooker on 24/7, humming like the sweet siren song of sanity in this cursed clown world. Minute rice? Nah, I’m no casual—I’m steaming jasmine or bust, maybe some sticky sushi rice if I’m feeling extra unhinged. I eat it plain, no sauce, no sides, no weak-ass distractions. Just rice. Spoonful after spoonful, shoveling it into my face while I scroll /b/ and laugh at your pathetic attempts to “eat balanced.” Balanced? BRO, rice IS balance. Carbs for energy, a little fiber to keep the pipes clean, and none of that fatty, protein-stuffed garbage clogging up my vibe. I’m a rice elemental at this point—my blood’s probably 90% starch, and I’m thriving.
You wanna talk nutrition? Rice has everything I need, and nothing I don’t. I don’t care about your vitamins or your omega-3s or whatever pseudoscience buzzword you’re jerking off to this week. Rice is pure. Rice is life. I’d rather die than choke down a slab of steak or some sad, soggy broccoli. You can keep your kale smoothies and your quinoa bowls—shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine. I’m over here, ascended, with my bowl of rice, shitposting into the void, and I’ve never been happier. Rice gang 4 lyfe, you protein-loving losers can rot.