I microwaved a grape once. Just one grape, right? Seemed innocent enough. Ten seconds. Ten. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥. Seconds. The smell. It wasn't grape. It was... I don't know, a ghost of something you shouldn't have been able to smell. Like if a tiny, ancient sun died in a plastic Tupperware container. It looked like a tiny, angry, purple raisin trying to escape its own existence. I poked it with a toothpick. It squished in a way that felt profoundly wrong, like the sound of a universe folding in on itself. I didn't eat it. I couldn't. I just stared at it for a good five minutes, my mind a blank, terrified canvas. My cat started yowling at the microwave later that night, for no reason. I think he saw something. I think the grape opened a portal to a dimension where everything is just slightly off-kilter and smells faintly of burnt sugar. Don't microwave grapes, man. The risk is not worth the reward. The reward is a tiny, eldritch raisin. The risk is everything. This isn't a joke.

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ily this gamer right here

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ᶦ ˢʷᵉᵃʳ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒᵈ ᶦᶠ ᵃᶰʸ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ♥♥♥♥♥ ᶜᵒᵖʸ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵖᵃˢᵗᵉ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᶦᶫᶫ ᵇᵉ ᶦᶰ ˢᵉʳᶦᵒᵘˢ ᵗʳᵒᵘᵇᶫᵉ