Scott Lawski writes: “I was walking home late one night, and I found myself in a less than desirable part of town. It was dark and deserted on the street when I heard a noise behind me. I turned, and there they were. Three of them. Avocado’s with bad intenti…ons.
I’ll not go in to the details overmuch, but all of my training in Silat and everything I learned as a Marine came in to play.
It was quick and brutal combat, but in the end, experience and determination overcame semi-firm fruit. I limped away and made my way to friendlier environments, leaving the bruised and battered berries (which they technically are) leaking their guacamole-like innards into the grime of the mean-streets that spawned them. I’ll never forget that night or my brush with death by fruit-it has burned itself in to my memory like PTSD, and I still wake up screaming from the memories.
Also, as the word originates from ‘ahuacatl’-the Nahuatl word for testicle, I cannot help but be a bit turned off.
Or, maybe, I just don’t care for the taste. I’ll let you decide which is true.