Hey look Keebler, I know I’m a disgusting slob the likes of which couldn’t even pull a Rancor Monster at the local pub, but I’m working on it. I’M F-ING WORKING ON IT.
Is it wrong that a gal like myself will once in a while satiate her desire for the sadistic murder of coworkers, or soothe a heart broken by lost payables aged over 90 days? It’s not. So imagine my thrill at finding our office kitchen had a drawer full of cookies. COOKIES!, in a drawer so full that a little bag of them popped out as soon as I pulled on the handle. It was like a lazy man’s pinata without the bad, no-name ‘crap candy’ that my mom used to buy in a six pound bag for three bucks.
OOOOO Grasshoppers, Fudge Stripes, E.L.Fudges! And there, on the bottom, in a little yellow pack, the cookie promoted by Grandmas everywhere: Pecan Sandies. As you know, Pecan Sandies are Jesus’ After School Snack, and the taste of that buttery nutty goodness at 3:00 on a Friday is just the thing for my weary, accounting soul.
And hey, it’s a 100 calorie pack, my friend. I can eat this WHOLE GOD DAMN bag of cookies and it’s only 100 calories! It’s a win win!
Let’s pull out this first cookie. Um, ok, I think this is a communion Host. That’s inappropriate. Oh. Ok, no, it’s a cookie. It’s good. It’s small. It’s good. It’s…small. I’ll eat two together for the next one, it’ll seem really decadent. Oh man. THis is a good cookie. I LOVE COOKIES. MOMMA! MOMMA I LOVE COOKIES! Ok, now I’ll really enjoy this next one, I mean, just take it all in. Delish.
And now, for the next cooo…
wha.
What in the name of my savior jesus? FOUR FUCKING TOENAIL SIZED COOKIES and a couple crumbs? You miserable son of a bitch. I aughta burn this fucking building RIGHT TO THE GROUND and piss on the ashes. Is this what it’s come to in George Bush’s America? We’re supposed to fold our hands, smile AND LIE and say that this is enough? WELL MY GOD, NO. No I won’t. This is horseshit. HORSESHIT in a MYLAR BAG. I need about four of these to even feel like I"ve made a dent in my emotional shortcomings, and even then I can just barely manage the guilt and self loathing that a good afternoon snack demands.
SO YOU KNOW WHAT? NO. NO MR KEEBLER ELF. NO, NABISCO. NO SIR KRAFT OF THE KENSINGTON KRAFTS. NO CHEEZITS You can take your 100 Calories and cram them up the tiny hole of your teeny pink peen. Don’t worry, they’ll fit with room to spare.