Juan Quar reminds me:
Steel wool.

Actually, it's not so much steel wool I hate as the thought that it inevitably triggers in me when I encounter any, to wit: I'd really fucking hate to bite down on to a ball of this stuff.

I don't have fillings, but the thought of biting steel wool (or a fork, come to think of it), makes me go all wuhhurhuragh anyway. So why will the thought of actually doing so not go away?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 4 Apr 2011, 14:14, 5 replies)

Bite some. Exorcise your demon.
You know you want to.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Mon 4 Apr 2011, 20:33, closed)

I have a similar reaction...
...to Maltesers. I have to suck them.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Mon 4 Apr 2011, 22:42, closed)

A rather unpleasant flat I once lived in
had evidence of rat infestation.
We didn't have any steel wool to stuff in the holes we thought they were using for access, so used tinfoil.
When the pest controller came around, I asked him if he thought this might dissuade the rats.
"Well it might. If they've got fillings"
( 4Q just lurking, Mon 4 Apr 2011, 23:32, closed)

Hahahaha!
When they told you to stuff steel wool in their holes, did you say 'But we'll have to catch them first!'
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 11:01, closed)

I get that feeling
when I think about Skittles.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Tue 5 Apr 2011, 10:39, closed)