"Then why do you eat them?" I asked him, "and also what does that have to do with the fact that we're plummeting into an active volcano?"
"I know! I know!" he said defensively, "When I started eating them I was working in this remote little radio station out in the middle of the plains. The vending machine only got restocked once a week, and the day staff ate all the good food, so all that was left were these horrible maple flakes! But I was there late at night, and it was just way more convenient to eat them, and I was always so hungry. They kept restocking them because I kept buying them. And they were so very expensive, too!"
"But you don't work there any more!" I said, also glancing down at the roiling lava below us.
"I know! But by now the taste is so familiar that I just crave it all the time! And I hate them! And they're so expensive! I figure that the best way to kick the habit is just to develop an allergy to them, and as we all know, allergies come from volcanoes."
That's when I decided to stop being friends with him. Call me callous, but if I'm going to get incinerated for a friend, I'd like for it to be based on sound reasoning at the very least.