Dear fried food,
You and I go back a long way; dad's fish is one of my fondest memories from living at home, and where would I be without A&W, Wendy's and McDonalds to keep me going on busy days, not to mention pizza and panzarottis? Seriously, calories per kilogram, you can't be beat, though I know you leave a lot to be desired when it comes to other important stuff like vitamins and minerals.
Alas, I feel the time has come for us to part. You are wreaking absolute havoc on my digestive system. I can't be running to the bathroom after every meal we share, and for hours on end (no pun intended). It's just not going to work out. It's not you, it's me, or something about you interacting badly with something new about me. Whatever it is, ugh. It's got to stop. I'm sure we'll meet now and then over a friend's fries or the occasional slice of 'za on a busy night of homework, but until then, adieu. It's been fun.