Oh man. I recently rekindled my love affair with pop-tarts. They are so good. Just not good for me. Nothing can make me turn my thoughts from polyunsaturated fats, white flour, sugar, and triglycerides like pop-tarts.
I am genetically predisposed to them. They are part of my biology. They are the nourishment of my psyche. Oh, the Pop-Tart. You are me and I am you. Soul mates.
I like the cherry ones with the crunchy frosting. I also like the watermellon ones and the wildberry ones. There are wildberry Pop-Tarts in the house right now. But not for long. Even though it is Passover, Pop-Tarts are flattened and have not risen, so they qualify as unleavened bread. The escaping Israelites could only pray for a manna like Pop-Tarts. Alas, they never knew them, but Matzoh was made in their image.
That's it. Tonight, I will fear the health dangers no more: I will partake of a pop-tart, with milk as well. These Pop-Tarts are Good. For, of all my creations on this Earth... the pyramids, the Mona Lisa, the moose.... Pop-Tarts are my best creation. Soul, Delal... do you hear me? Tonight we break the veil. Tonight we cross the boundaries into death and bad grades and return unscathed. Tonight we eat Pop-Tart and add them to our biochemistry.
We may even eat two.
Dec. 28, 2011 - Day 656
6 years ago