Late night ramen noodle habit out of control

I never really liked ramen noodles when I was young. Mostly because there was always some kid who dumped their leftover noodles in the water fountain after lunch. I very much dislike staring at half eaten noodles while I am drinking water. In college I gave them a second chance. But they seemed slimy and limp to me, as if they had been sitting in that water fountain since third grade and finally fished out ten years later, landing in mouth. Then, a couple of months ago, something strange happened.

As I was walking home after a late night out, that dude who is in charge my cravings, my hypothalamus, (I'm going to call him Bill Clinton) began screaming "RAaaaaaMEN NOOooooDLES! I WAaaaaanT RAaaaaaaaMEN NOODLES!" I tried to ignore him because not only did I dislike ramen noodles, I knew ramen noodles were NOT a nutritious late night meal. Yes, there are more harmful foods (hollandaise sauce, fried ice cream, gushers) but the more I tried to suppress Bill Clinton's cries, the louder he wailed. I had to give him the bag of dehydrated soup he desired.

Over the next few weeks my ramen noodle intake began to increase. The noodles no longer tasted slimy and limp. Now they were satisfyingly salty and delicious. I started thinking about the quantity of noodles I had been consuming. Was Bill Clinton taking over? One night I casually mentioned to a friend that I was going to pick up some ramen noodles on the way home. My friend was horrified. But I knew that something inside me had changed ever since I'd heard Bill Clinton crying.

That night I thought a lot about ramen noodles. On the one hand, they are absolutely repulsive. On the other hand, they are delicious. I woke up the next day in cold, salty, artificial-chicken-flavored sweat. I decided I didn't care if ramen noodles were unhealthy and disgusting. I wanted to keep Bill Clinton happy. If he wanted ramen noodles, he was gonna get ramen noodles.
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