Corn
Phil really hated corn. So many little yellows staring up at him, plotting and scheming. While he slept they’d gather under his bed and plot. He could even hear them whispering some nights when they thought he was sleeping. Other days he’d catch one or two kernels spying on him out of the corner of his eye, only to dash out of sight or bake themselves into a muffin when he turned to get a better look.
Everyone that he told either thought he was crazy, or had already been brainwashed by the corn, Phil wasn’t sure which. He wasn’t sure it was brainwashing either, it might be a pod person situation where the victim’s brain is replaced by corn. “One day,” he said, “I will know the secrets of the corn. Not you, you won’t know, you don’t even think they’re evil and dangerous. Fools, all of you!” Phil said this a lot, which usually guaranteed him a seat all to himself on the subway. And that was for the best, since he could keep his undivided attention on possible corniness around him.
Phil goes back and forth on the idea of just eating his small yellow enemies. On the one hand, surely he’d be destroying their forces by consuming them. On the other hand, he’d be voluntarily granting them access to his squishy, vulnerable inside parts, which seems like an excessively stupid move to make in his grand war. “Does the queen eat the pawns in chess? No, that would be too risky. On the other hand, pawn aren’t usually edible. Maybe they would be eaten if they were more delicious.”