Return Of The Snack
I don't apologize for anything. It's a personal policy, a store policy, and should be a national policy. I decided to take 6 months to 12 years off to find myself and discovered my final destiny as a machine for ceaseless processing of Oreos.
Red Velvet Oreos
S'Moreos
Brownie Batter Oreos
Cotton Candy Oreos
Marshmallow Krispy Oreos
Cinnamon Bun Oreos
Regular Old Mint Oreos
Pointless Seasonal Color Oreos
Gingerbread Oreos
Oreos THINS (LOLOLOLOLOL WHY)
Blueberry Oreos
Original Oreos
Fried Oreos
Pumpkin Chocolate Oreo
I am probably missing a few. I am not the guy in this operation who cares about a spreadsheet, I am the formerly visionary sales guy who is just past being cool and frequently chooses some unwisely forward-thinking sneakers for a niche conference. I am also the machine that grinds a viable product into an unusable paste and then wastes even that pointless output all over the floor, so my business generally doesn't make any money and indeed we are losing a great deal of it.
Naturally I tried every novelty Dunkin’ Donut (what’s up, Brownie Batter?) and M&M (skip directly to Chili Nut and build a life) because I’m out here just like you and anyway I needed a brief respite from my annual Cadbury mini-egg dialysis.
I did have this one cool day where I went to IKEA because I guess I wanted my desk to be real euro but unnoticeable.
Sweet 'n Sour Skull
Sweet 'n Luscious Caramel Thing
Rock Hard Wad of Red Licorice
Supposedly Crunchy but Nahhh Strawberry Log
Way Suggestively Shaped Red Hot Sports Car
Those were the beginner level candies. If you have been following the hottest blogs of 2014, you'd know that Ikea decided to wedge a little candy side-hustle into their city-state embassies and quietly included some of those spicy Svenska flavors that you won't find in the Cracker Barrel gift shop even in their well known back room. Without any notice or warning, you might accidentally eat...
RHUBARB LOG WHAT
RUM DROPS OKAY
SALTY OCTOPUS THANKS
Generally I think people have gotten wise to Sweden's salty little pranks over the last couple of years including that preettttty sketchy salted monkey, but at least IKEA decided to soft-warn you with some seafood iconography. They are really good though. Salt and licorice create fusion power and I'm upset to this day that I only bought three.
After that event, I lapsed into a habit of just drinking Four Loko Gold or Genny Goat Beer and eating Spicy Cheez-Its 3-5 nights a week and Pig Week just isn't as snappy a name. I even let my normally sensible haircut grow out into a shape that I had hoped would look like Don Johnson or a background dancer from Stayin' Alive but instead turned exactly into Rudy the Rabbit from Meatballs.
That's not why I dragged you here today. I had a good reason for getting a blade and cutting the paint around this door so it would open again. My focus for today, tomorrow, and forever...
...the flapping tear in the fabric of time and dilemma through which frosting and all it's attendant demons must occur. This is really the one. The godhead and the all-snack. The palate-flaying figure astride the pale horse that never gets mentioned because the authors instantly become overwhelmed with crumbs and thirst.
They said it wasn't worth the trouble. They told me this was just some crummy stale bodega filler that locals use to fill sinkholes, but THEY are so wrong that I have to sit down right now it because rightness is weighing down on me like a focused column of pure hard tungsten.
Several of my cherished friends and acquaintances from various sectors of my computer life enacted separate capers to make sure I got some of this. The result was that I ended up with quite a lot, yet part of me is in an active panic that there's only 60 lbs remaining.
I want those friends to know it was all worthwhile. This is truly my favorite snack. The dryest and most snack accurate (snackurate) thing I have endured. Eating a frosted toast is like passing your ghost through a universe comprised of boot scrapers. You are pumiced on every surface as you press the enormous dessicant forward and forward until nothing of you is left except the ancient memory of a single butter knife smear of frosting. But it's enough. Nothing has ever delivered on the promise of life and civilization like frosted toast. No vaccine, spaceship, smartphone or episode of Sledge Hammer is as worthy of being our monolith and headstone.












