Cubans Like Fondue
Swarthy Cubans, grimier than the soot from my chimney, walk through the streets of Akron, jittery like a tomato that’s on its way to visit the tomato tormentor. They pass by fruit carts filled with glistening tomatoes, regardless of the appropriateness of keeping tomatoes in a fruit cart. Some Cubans work up the courage to point at the tomatoes, but others just ignore it, pretending that the tomato is an obese elephant that’s hiding in the corner bookstore like any normal animal would.
They don’t even stop at Barry’s place on the next block, even though Barry is hosting one of his famous fondue parties. How could a Cuban pass up a fondue party, especially one of this caliber? That is a mystery, and one of the many reasons why Cuba itself is a mystery. Those people hate their tomatoes but love their fondue.
I sometimes keep myself awake at night wondering how they feel about tomato fondue. Would it make them explode, leaving behind just a faint wisp of person-colored smoke?
The world may never know, because even though scientists spend all of my tax dollars working on unusual fondue combinations, I don’t think that any one of them has successfully solved the famous chemistry paradox of a tomato fondue. The chemistry version of the paradox is even trickier than the political version of the tomato fondue paradox, if you can believe it.
Since I am a chemistry expert, I believe it with every cotton fiber of my being. And if you don’t believe that my brain is made out of cotton, then you must not be as much of a chemistry expert as I am. Stop arguing with me if you don’t know anything about chemistry or fondue, it just makes you look like a simpleton.