The Onion Of Confusion

You know all about the Onion of Confusion, Allium Dumfukium, surely. It turns up in all sorts of dishes regularly on the menu (if you happen to be me), such as the humble Stew of Humiliation or the more spectacular, crowd-drawing (crowd demanding) Credibility Flambe.

Sometimes it is a meal in its own right, but is mostly proferred as Possibility Surprise; a delicacy set upon a bed of desperation, that involves slowly peeling and consuming your very personal and large onion of confusion one pungent, eye watering layer at a time, in the sure knowledge that the entire thing is steeped in a marinade of faint hope and therefore may just contain a possibility. Possibilities are like fortune cookies; mostly hollow, more usually containing trite philosophies than anything remotely complimentary to said marinade; highly unlikely to come close to soothing the passage of the vicious root, and generally, if approached too swiftly, leave you with nothing but the taste of cheap paper (and lost possibilities, of course), and another good reason for chronic indigestion.

This is what is known to the gods of perplexity and mortification as a double-triple whammy with a cherry on the top*. It is a riddle more demonic than the whole chicken and egg thing and therefore pleases them immensely, even though it is based entirely on a stupid pun. See one might feel like a dumfukium having consumed said delicacy. One might also feel like a dumfukium having conversely been consumed by it, 'it' being confusion, after all - in other words between you and the onion, it doesn't matter which consumes the other, you still get to feel really incredibly stupid.
*No, there isn't really one at all. It just pleases them if your mind ends up so fried that you actually ask why you never got your cherry.

After all that (or more precisely before it), one has to take into account that free will exists, that consumption of such a meal (or, as established, consumption by it**) is a matter of choice, so that one could be said to 'feel like a dumfukium' , just as one might 'feel like a bite to eat', before actually coming into any sort of contact with the damnable bulb.
**Highly unlikely, which makes it inevitable. I mean, that's confusion for you.

It has to be said that one must surely be either mortally stupid or terminally confused to contemplate such an action, ergo the onion wins, having you in its grasp before you even know of its existence. In other words, confusion is a temporally resistant state which afflicts us all from the first moment of awareness. This would be a comfort if not for those who spend their lives trying to hide their condition through massive consumption of the Cola of hot air, the caviar of groundless superiority***, or cow pie.
***Of course groundless; this is fish eggs, people. I accept caviar as a symbol of gentility if you accept pigs trotters for the same reason. Q: If the trotters were also groundless, would they have to come from flying pigs?

My day today was one huge allium experience; one delicacy after another (although I think I just avoided the flambe on a technicality due to a deficiency in spectator numbers), each gulp drier than the one before. I'd like to say that's another story but it isn't, it's exactly the same one. I'm just too confused to tell you about it; OK?