Hellman’s, Duke’s, or homemade, it doesn’t matter.  Unless amalgamated with other more palatable masking ingredients to form tuna or potato salad, mayonnaise is repulsive at best. 

Dear readers, you may ask why my dislike of the substance is so vehement, and I will gladly tell you.  Mayonnaise, deplorable, wretched goo that it is, appeals to none of my five senses. 

Besides its foul, oily, eggy taste and smell, which are my primary reasons for aversion, mayonnaise is not even visually attractive.  In addition to its sickly pale color, which serves as a more than adequate measure of its distastefulness, mayonnaise oozes in shiny glops and smears into a nearly iridescant sheen on a slice of bread–and food (if you could even call it that) was simply never meant to glimmer. 

On top of that, it greases up your fingers (or any other surface) like a slimy snail trail, and its emulsive nature means it quite eerily is neither solid nor liquid.  Quite an untrustworthy mess, if you ask me.

Finally, consider the sound mayo makes when you stick a butterknife into the jar–it’s the same squishing squelch that mud makes when you step in it barefoot, the same dribbly plop that your internal organs will make if your doctor slips during the open-heart surgery you’ll surely need after a lifetime of eating this loathsome stuff. 

Don’t forget, after all, that besides possessing no sensory appeal whatsoever, mayonnaise is also terrible for your health, packed with enough calories, fat, and cholesterol to kill you one day–if your smoking, drinking, and reckless driving don’t do it first.