One thing I will never dream about again is Jell-o. I always liked Jell-o, but haven't eaten it since my gastric bypass 12 years ago. Apparently I've lost my taste for it, and now all I can think of is a Color War song from Camp Anawana, circa 1960-1962:
The punch is so mellow,
it tastes like melted Jell-o
and the next day we all look grim.
And the clinic line is growing,
because we all are going,
and Doc Goldstein just gives us Coricidan.