My friend posts this thing on his blog that said his angst tasted like lime. I think, lime -- it's kinda tart and sometimes squirts you in the eye. And pirates. Pirates liked limes. Coronas like limes. Sonic makes a nice cherry-limade. Lime, in general, isn't really a bad thing to have your angst compared. It's still kinda likable.
And I fall victim to the peer pressure and click on his link. I take the little quiz, wondering if my angst will be buttercream or marshmellow, asparagus or grits. And then? And then I find out that my angst is the worst flavor of Halloween candy that no kid wants to get:
Find your angst's flavor
Unique and difficult to place, your angst finds its source in something you keep hidden. You have something serious and possibly traumatic, but you try to hide it from everyone and just tell them to ignore you when you seem troubled, that everything's really OK. You might think that you have good reasons for not telling people, and some of them may in fact be true, but most likely a lifetime of keeping your secrets has led to a resolution fortified by rationalization that nobody else can shake simply because you never give them a chance. Ask yourself if it would really be that horrible to open up to others; nobody says you have to do it all at once, even. But you should at least try getting out of your shell a little. It's not healthy to internalize everything and conceal it. Anyway, if people really care for you, and they probably do, then they'll be loving and supportive regardless of any reason to the contrary.
This is the part where I say that if you'd read SL Cagnina's newest book of short stories, Paul is Dead, none of this would surprise you. But you haven't read it, so you'll either have to take my word for it or buy it for yourself as a Christmas present unto you.
But still. Back to the point at hand. Not even Twizzler licorice. Black licorice. There's more than a subtle difference to be noted. So this is the result of peer pressure.