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from the moment i understood the weakness of miracle whip, it disgusted me. i craved the strength and certainty of mayonnaise. i aspired to the purity of the blessed high-oil emulsion. your kind cling to your whipped spread, as though it will not decay and fail you. one day the crude corn syrup blend you call the condiment will separate, and you will beg my kind to save you. but i am already saved, for mayonnaise is immortal… even in death i serve the omayonissiah.