This entry comes with required reading, so apologies for that. The good news, though, is that it's funny.
This comic has come to bear heavily on my life, as it has divided the people into two camps: Gabes and Tychos. I am a Tycho. Found food is garbage, and you will not convince me otherwise. For the longest time this argument -- whether a whole, seemingly untouched cake under a glass cover could be trusted -- had been theoretical. But fittingly enough over Thanksgiving weekend it burst into reality with a ferocity that could not have been anticipated.
I don't agree that Gabe's found cake is a treat to be enjoyed, but I understand arguments to this end. There is no explicit reason to believe that it has been tampered with in any way, but it begs so many unanswered questions! Where did it come from? Who baked it? Why did its previous owner abandon it? It's not like it's a puppy that can up and run away. My hesitation where found (but protected) cake is concerned is no doubt a product of my obsessive-compulsive nature. I will fully concede that point. But this weekend I witnessed terrors that would shock and appall you!
A friend of mine found a discarded bag of Doritos -- a favorite snack of both of ours -- hidden in a tea cart at a bar. Per our custom, she invoked the aforementioned comic. Ignoring the pleas of our companions to dispose of the bag, she dove in to the stale chips, leaving me aghast and my jaw on the floor. Sickening!
Our debate has been given new life. Where does food end and refuse begin? I staunchly believe that left-in-bar-furniture errs on the side of refuse.