Genteel Readers,
One of my secret vices has always been Hostess™ brand fruit snacks and Twinkies. Now, before my multitude of detractors starts braying about how they're "not organic" and how they're "full of chemicals," let me explain something to you. I am a graduate school drop out, which puts me in league with such luminaries as Stephen Jobs and William Gates. So I think I know what is organic and what isn't. The recipe for Twinkies actually predates chemical additives and preservatives, and the reason why they last so long even in a compost pile or a fire is they're SO in harmony with nature that they peacefully coexist as all enlightened beings/snacks are wont to do. As such, I have been wont to eat several of them every day, purchasing them by the box and stashing them in secret places all over my house so my wife doesn't all of a sudden eat them between waitressing shifts, the selfish harpy. My very best hiding places have included the toilet cistern and under the treadmill (as Katie is never wont to exercise with the laughable excuse that serving something called an "Awesome Blossom" to local yokels is somehow "exhausting.")
Well, you can imagine my dismay and dread when they started closing Hostess™ factories, and then just weeks later shuttered the entire company! For the first time since I was a child, I actually sucked my thumb HIDING IN THE CLOSET, wrapped in my quilt. I will also confess that, upon hearing the horrid news had broken, I lost a few drops as it were. By which I mean I wet my pants. If this is unclear, let me clarify by saying I (mostly involuntarily) peed down the front of my sweat pants. Upon which I quickly snatched up my quilt, dashed into the closet, found my favorite frayed end, and stayed in there sucking my thumb until I could compose my thoughts. I don't know how long I was in this fugue state, (come to think of it, I don't recall having changed pants,) but suffice to say it must have been several hours. As emotion waned and genius waxed, I realized I had to get to the Hostess™ store and purchase all the snacks I possibly could! After putting up with Katie's sneers (she was at the OTHER restaurant she works at, some kind of pancake place with gauche decor and even worse ambiance,) I had a fistful of cash and rapidly power-walked to my destination with the aim of liberating all the delicious Twinkies™ and Fruit Pies™ I could scrounge!
Imagine my horror when I arrived to see the rubes had beaten me to the store, and were scrambling about, shouting at the kind clerks to retrieve goods from the back! After elbowing and scratching my way to the front of the crowd, I very politely demanded that the clerk bring me his reserve of Twinkies and other such confectioneries and that he do so right this minute! Well, let me tell you about this guy. First of all, he looked like Homer Simpson without the jaundice and smelled like cigarettes. I had expected the Hostess™ store to be staffed by clean, pleasant, respectable men in bowties, and before me stood this lumbering cretin. So to get his attention I started poking him in his big fat moobs to get my point across. I needed my snacks and I needed them NOW!
"Sir please," he said, "you need to keep your hands to yourself. I can get you on a wait-list, we have a truck coming in at 6AM tomorrow, I'd be happy to take your name down if you'd like." My readership knows THAT is exactly the kind of condescension from rubes that really PISSES ME OFF! As he turned away I shut my eyes, sharply inhaled, drew my clenched fist back to my ear and launched it for his cheek with all my might! I felt a solid impact, and then a child's scream ricocheted through the small foyer. Apparently, some fat idiot mother had tried to insert herself between Homer Simpson and I when the fisticuffs began, as women are wont to be peacekeepers. And I had in turn punched her three-year old in the face, whom she had been carrying. His nose was gushing blood, he was crying and she was trying to soothe him. I scowled at her for her idiocy, inserting herself into manly combat like that and recklessly endangering a child! "You stupid matinee!" I snapped at her. She looked at me, stunned, so I repeated myself; "You STUPID fat matinee!"
Of course, the crowd turned hostile at that point. Rubes started hitting me with their purses and other chatelle, nearly knocking me off my balance. I ran from the store as fast as I could, and a few of them followed me into the parking lot. Fortunately, I don't own a car so there was nothing to slash and/or key. These people weren't true Twinkie™ aficionados anyway. They were just selling them on e-bay for a disgusting markup. But at least I won my fistfight. Score one for the manly man of letters!
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