Ryvita
“They're ryviting!”
Ryvitas are messengers sent from some bearded guy in the sky to spread doom and marmalade unto all peoples. Cloaked in daggers and peeing on some grass made of straws, they come during night's death to steal macaroni cheese from unwary homeowners. Refusing point black to wash up the plates and saucepans after they have finished. But worse than that, worse than all or some of that, they taste wamp. Absolutely wampsticles.
Despite their divine status they are often munched on by the gravitationally-superfluous as an aid to reduce their planetary mass to acceptable human levels. The impact of this is lessened somewhat by the gallons of mayonaise and entire legs of ham that the behemoths cascade onto the ryvitas before consumption, leaving the whole excercise as a futile endeavour, doomed to end in heart surgery and Channel 4 freak show documentaries.
Also clingy exes who think they can still be friends with you, what's up with that? Who the fudge caramel do they think they are? Because I know who I don't know I think they think they are. Ryvita doesn't care much for these people, and too right to, they certainly don't go well on crackers. Or Ryvitas.
Go Ryvitas! Go right in their face!