Sometimes listicles need ten items to be authoritative. Sometimes, five items will do if it’s are compelling. But today, we’re dramatically redefining the genre and creating a listicle so compelling, so powerful, so… listicled that we only need FOUR items to make this.

Today, you’ll learn why green beans are the assholes of the vegetable world.

Suck it bitches. Asshole vegetables. Four items.

Green Beans are Smug Little Fucks

If this is a shocking statement, you’ve never spent time with green beans. Many people, naive of world matters and the interplay of human hearts, believe green beans to be a rather benign plant, edible when plucked, and with an overtly inoffensive flavor. But those people are idiots.

First, for those not in the know, the easiest way to piss off a bunch of green beans is to drop the “u” when discussing their “flavour.” Therefore, we’ve endeavored to rile up the smug bastards for the rest of this article. Such flavourless douches.

Second, many people overlook the bad behavior of green beans simply because they are vegetables. Sure, they might be vegetables, and therefore healthy, but that makes it all the worse.

Fruits aren’t assholes. The closest fruit to being a smug little fuck is apples and their motto about keeping the doctor away. Look, if I thought people would believe me when I say “Going Down on Me a Day Keeps the Doctor Away,” I would shout it in a heartbeat! I would have banners and signs! I would set up a clinic, with a line forming straight to my junk, and a sign above it that says “Free Healthcare provided by the My Affordable Junk Act. All you can eat!” So no, I don’t blame apples for their claim to fame. But green beans? Ooohhh tarnations, that’s as I’ve heard the devil on a fell wind of chlorophyll with a sooty blight of smugness.

You wanna know how smug green beans are? Even tomatoes left the band, and pumpkins, and cucumbers, and they all decided that they’re fruits now. Fruits have parties and dress up as cakes, pies, muffins, or my junk. Vegetables? When they get together they just get baked and salty. Boring! I don’t see doctors running for the hills, or anyone lining up to my sensual, lady jungle looking for a snack, not with veggies!

The worst part!? Vegetables will go on and on about how they’re low in sugar and better for everyone. I bet Ghandi would’ve been a vegetable. He might’ve been good for the world but you never saw anyone invite him to a cookout.

Vegetables are just walking around like: “Ooh! I’m a vegetable! I provide nutrients and won’t spike your insulin or give you high cholesterol.”

But that’s not the whole story, is it, Nightshade?! I see you.

Green Beans are “Those Skinny Bitches”

Sometimes you’re at a party, or a social function, mingling amicably with everyone present. Your manners and social skills are well on display. At one point, you’ll find yourself having a rewarding and spirited conversation about the benefits of fruits and how having Pumpkin join the crowd made the last round of estate sales into “bangin’ ragers.” Then, without request, a small group of “fine-ass hoes” will deign to grace your presence with theirs. Soon, the conversation loses its sweetness, as those fine-ass hoes reveal themselves to be green beans. You know the kind: tall, skinny, effortless beauty, nice tits.

Shit just got real, son.

Only green beans will back-hand complement your new diet while rocking some skinny jeans, and probably with just a hint of thong showing at the hips because green beans are Sooo skinny that even skinny jeans ride a little low. They can’t help it!! And yet, you keep talking to them at the cookout anyway because their haughty confidence is charismatic.

Fuck you Green Beans. I don’t care if your dad did build his house all by himself or is super rich and can pay for us to relocate into the house at the back of his driveway. I married you and this is our house! If you loved him so much maybe you should’ve married him!

No baby, come back Green Beans. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Y’know, you looked great this morning on that dish with my eggplant. C’mon, I didn’t mean what I said about your dad. He’s probably a nice guy, I’m sure. Right?

Green Beans “Um, Actually” Relish Correcting You

Have you ever tried talking to Green Beans? Have you ever asked them how the “other” vegetables are doing? Y’know, because unlike other meat heads you are friendly and enjoy talking. If so, then you know what comes next.

Green Beans are always the first to tell you that they aren’t vegetables…

Umm, okay, wow. Like, this is really embarrassing, for you. You should be embarrassed because apparently, you think I’m a “vegetable.” That’s so ableist and veggiest of you. What, just because I’m green, I’m a vegetable? Gawd, I’m so tired of getting hit on by losers, with no class, asking about my “veggie” family. I’m disgusted. You’re disgusting.

You should know, that ahkshully, by ethnicity, I’m a “legume.” But buhtawnically speaking, I’m a savory fruit. Ugh… You’re so taxing my aura right now. Can you stop looking at my tits and go 67 yourself?

Apologies Green Beans, I will never ask about your day, or anything about your life.

Now get on my cutting board.

They Can’t Stay Still Even After a Good Beheading

While the reasons above are, of themselves, enough to indict green beans in the court of shame and infamy, consider yet this additional point, one as fit to make boil the blood of even the finest of fruits.

Imagine yourself standing in a kitchen, a nice kitchen, your kitchen, preparing your culinary magnum opus du jour. A slight breeze passes through the casement French windows carrying a hint of rosemary and thyme from your herb garden. There’s another hint in the fragrance as well, something magically ethereal, the smell of Spring drying away last night’s rains from yon hills to the crick below.

Today’s dish, which will inevitably cause all your friends to applaud your efforts (yet again and for n-th forgotten time, because you suffer from a memory so burdened by the weight of joy and good cheer that you can’t possibly remember every instance of applause), will feature green beans.

What a delight, Chef! How incentive!

So you pull the greenest of beans from the fridge, place them on the cutting board and carefully line them up, all their tips ready for circumcision.

And down comes your blade.

Chop! Everything goes fine, Chef, until it all goes horribly, horribly wrong, Chef. Every chop after this will ignite within you the fury of a thousand suns, and the rage of a million devils who went down to Georgia looking to make a deal with a fiddle of gold against Johnny’s soul. With every chop of green bean, there will be no chicken in the bread pan picking out dough in your future. No, child, no. That chicken is only picking out, pain–not in the French way.

You chop, and chop the green beans, whittling down their height, one beheading at a time.

Every tiny chop causes their little green bean heads to roll, or shoot, right off your cutting board, off the table, onto the floor where the dog (you now have a dog, and it’s in your kitchen… gross, get your dog out of the kitchen!) licks it up, then spits it back out because it’s “sad food” according to your dog (you really should’ve gotten a mixed breed, they’re less fussy eaters and have better genetics), then your cat sniffs it. As your cat (why is your cat also in the kitchen? You may not be the chef we thought you were) turns its nose up at it, another one of your green bean projectiles shoots from the cutting board and hits your kitchen cat in the eye (good Lord, but aren’t you a terrible person!). Now your cat gets the hint that you absolutely hate it and are trying to kill it to make tonight’s meal (monster!). Naturally, it turns to run away. Yet it doesn’t get far though because you’ve decided to ignore the yowling cat and keep chopping green beans–NONE of which stay ON the cutting board. By now your cutting board is shooting off tiny bits of green bean all over the kitchen while you scream artful vulgarity so creative that you’ve finally managed to bring peace to the ghost that’s been haunting your kitchen and who can now move on to the next place, Andrew Dice Clay. With your last chop, and your kitchen cat (named “Meowcifer the Murderous”) about to reach safety around a corner, one last piece of green bean shoots across the kitchen–guided by the dark design of smug bitches in skinny jeans–hitting your cat with an aim impeccable right at the knife’s edge where a cat’s anus meets impious humor.

Meowcifer the Murderous–with a fresh vitamin injection–gives one last yowl as it scurries to its safe place. Your floor is covered in green bean pieces and you carefully collect them all. Counting them all you realize you’re missing one piece; then you finally understand why the dog is laughing.

Fuck you Green Beans. Fuuuuuuck. You.

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PS.

Andrew Dice Clay wasn’t actually dead, you insensitive ass. He was over at your house because you promised to take care of his cat, Meowcifer the Munificent. But then you got a hold of the cat, with the green bean having invaded his cat’s fecal manufacturing facilities, turned the cat into Meowcifer the Murderous.

Andrew Dice Clay is very unhappy with you.

You will regret making a lifelong enemy of someone who’s never actually been proven to be the greatest assassin of our time.

Fuck you Green Beans. Fuuuuuuck. You.