From data harvesting to questionable management to the constant internal debate of whom to block and whom to snooze, there are many reasons to hate Facebook. Nevertheless, I remain on the site, tethered by my love of Groups drama and the family members with whom I haven’t found a better way to keep in touch. But if there is one thing that lately has been irking me there most, it’s the unending stream of DIY food monstrosity videos that have increasingly littered my timeline over the past few years. You know them by the closeups of giant oozing egg dishes and glistening meats; the forced smiles from people shoving horrific food combinations into their mouths; the god awful techno music blasting from each one. For too many months they washed over me like so much internet bullshit, but a giant composite sushi roll was the unnecessary piece of food that snapped something inside of me.

The video from LAD Bible basically summarizes a year-old video by giant food YouTube channel HellthyJunkFood in which the hosts make several types of sushi and then roll them up into one giant sushi roll, all for the satisfaction of that painful-looking triumphant bite. First off, there’s no shame in getting your money making giant food online. But I don’t follow LAD Bible or HellthyJunkFood on Facebook. I don’t have an ad preference that says I love loud tutorial videos for foods I would never think of eating let alone making myself (I checked). And never in my life have I posted a Facebook status saying that I wish I knew of more ways to stretch the word “sushi,” because no dish has taken a beating in this bizarre trend quite as hard as sushi. There’s this chicken parmesan sushi video. This bacon cheeseburger sushi video. This video. And this meatless but equally unnecessary candy sushi video.

As of this writing, this video has 279 views on YouTube. On Facebook it has 2.7 million.

A Facebook food monstrosity isn’t simply a bastardized sushi roll or an unusually formed food. I would gladly try a sushi donut if offered. But after being battered time and time again with the presumption that I would want to make a BLT sushi or a giant pig in a blanket or a giant pizza cake, I’ve had enough of entertaining the idea of these unwieldy, unappetizing, culinary masturbations. I’m not alone: Search any variation of “Facebook gross food videos” on Twitter and you’ll find my grossed out compatriots.

As the giant sushi roll video shows, responsibility for this onslaught of food monstrosity videos doesn’t exactly sit with the giant food makers themselves, but rather the dozens and dozens of video content-hungry pages that chop up, recycle, and repost these social-media-ready eyesores over and over again until the end of time. For example, take this giant cheese-stuffed burger tutorial I saw on Facebook. The video is a repost of a video of a recipe based on an Instagram video that is a repost of another video that was made with footage taken from a now-deleted chef’s Instagram page. The chef only shared this crime against nature once, but it took a few more iterations before we hit the cursed “make this at home” level.

As of this writing, this iteration of the cheese-stuffed burger video has 638k YouTube views, where I searched for it, and 43 million Facebook views, where I saw it against my will because someone liked it, commented on it, or shared it.

So what to do? Even quitting Facebook wouldn’t save me from unexpected gross food videos. Plus, there are some unsolicited, social-media optimized videos I actually enjoy, like ones about stray dogs who find loving families or otters who are friends with lions and hyenas. But the excess, the persistence, and the presumption of egregious food tutorials is what makes them so offensive. While they may be, like many things, a quiet but unrelenting part of life online today, that doesn’t mean I have to suffer in silence; I’m planting my foot and declaring that Facebook food monstrosity tutorial videos are way, way too much. Except, that is, for this s’mores sushi video. It’s definitely not sushi. I definitely wouldn’t make it. It definitely doesn’t need to exist. But, hell, I’d probably eat it.