Oh Brussel Sprouts, why?

A master composition by Sarah London. Not really (about the masterpiece part)...
Why, brussel sprouts,
Why?
Why do you continue to dissapoint me so?
I do not know
All I know is that you can go sizzle up in that vat of oil,
You can end up under the dirty fingernails of my brother,
You can burn until your crispy little skin falls off.
May You be eaten by fleas, tortered until you bleed your horrid green juices out onto the clean, polished table.
May your brain be eaten by a half-starved cat,
May your little sister crawl inside your head and stay there and never come out.
May you end up on the bottom of the toilet bowl, being retched upon,
And finally, may you end up strangled in a dusty chimney somewhere, choked like you have done to us all of these years with your horrible taste.
Oh why, brussel sprouts, why?