I could go on for days about how classic rainbow sprinkles are an insult to the senses, but I have taken some time off today to condense my thoughts.
Point one: if sprinkles were a font, they would be Comic Sans. You would never look at a heaping of sprinkles and think, “Ah, yes. These confectionary rabbit droppings certainly hold the same elegance and grace as something written in Times New Roman.” That in itself is already infuriating.
But it doesn’t stop there. Besides their unfortunate shape, they also make my teeth angry. With absolutely no tactile prowess, they infiltrate, smatter, and colonise not only any smooth dessert – specifically designed to soothe the gourmand’s taste buds with its polished homogeneity – but also all of my cavities.
Do sprinkles have a taste? Yes, they do, and it’s the evil love child of expired dextrose tablets and Willy Wonka’s pubes.
If sprinkles had a sound, it would be a car crash. A knife scratching a ceramic plate. The auditory equivalent of trypophobia.
I guess they’re kinda fun for kids’ birthdays though *shrugs*.