My friends Hotrod & Daby tease me about my virulent dislike of universally beloved foodstuffs like, say, pie. I hate pie. All of the pies.

Today a friend was bragging about how much his five-year-old loved his from scratch Sloppy Joes and the conversation tested my gag reflexes because I hate Sloppy Joes as much as I hate pie.

Just typing the words “Sloppy Joes” sends a shiver of horror up my spine and causes my arms to break out in goosebumps. I could live to be 193 and I still will never eat another Sloppy Joe.

For years and years I was forced to serve Sloppy Joes to Sloppy Bowlers starting at like 7:30 in the morning every weekend in March. Remember the bowling alley? It’s been gone a long time now. If you haven’t been around this joint since ought-seven you might not remember it.

Anyway, I served Sloppy Joes out of that very Crockpot (an actual picture I took at the bowling alley) to bowlers for so many years (2 for $3/with a side of chips Old Dutch Rip-L, naturally) that I cannot stomach eating one. Just the idea that I might have smell a Sloppy Joe makes me afraid. Barf.