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Dear Gingerbread Latte,

I should have known you would taste like a wet rabid dog when I saw you foaming at the mouth. What is that fragrance? Freshly mowed wet grass? Dirt? I do not understand these flavors from a beverage, at least not one from Starbucks.

I sipped you hoping that you would get better, I was denied this opportunity. When I saw you on the menu I thought I would give you a chance. A chance like I gave that one girl who I thought was cute only to find out later that what was on the inside was not as appealing as what was on the outside.

Shame. Shame is what I felt after I continued to give you chance after chance and you defiled my mouth at every turn. I paid 4.86 for you and so I figured that it was me, not you, that had a problem.  When I finished consuming you I felt sick to my stomach, sick because I had tortured myself for so long.

Now it is with much delight that I end our relationship. There will be no second chances.

Goodbye forever,

Eddie

By Evan Stark

Eddie Renz is an avid fan of Egyptology, Wilbur Smith and bacon. Not a fan of humility but often finds himself humbled when he is around people who understand numbers like the Fibonacci sequence and Pi.

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