Once upon a midnight dreary, while I practiced hara-kiri
Looking at those packs of eerie “noodles” of old student lore.
With my stomach loudly rumbling, suddenly there came a grumbling
Since my foodstuffs there were humbling, foodstuffs on my kitchen floor.
“Tis not nutritious” I muttered, “and it’s crumpled on the floor”
Only this, and nothing more.
It was in its plastic wrapper, it belongs right in the crapper.
It doesn’t taste much like red snapper, though it said so at the store.
It is salt and cardboard flour; vainly had I sought its power,
For its lack of taste is sour, sour to my tongue’s rapport.
It offends the radiant taste buds whom the angels gave rapport,
On my tongue forevermore.
Though my tongue, it cries out harshly, all it wants is some more parsley.
Protein, fat, and fiber’s sparsely in the noodles I abhor.
For I cannot help but wonder if my stomach’s constant thunder
Comes from inedible wonders sitting on my kitchen floor.
I then ask the noodles if they’re safe to feed my poodles.
Quoth the Ramen: Nevermore.
The blogger recommends finding some of the imported stuff. I doubt it’s anywhere near as good as fresh, but it’s a lot better and still friendly to the budget.