My friend Dave made a suggestion to me that made a lot of sense. After reading a recent political blog of mine, that appeared to be ghost written by Sylvia Plath, he said: “I look forward to a post about Twinkies or Belly Buttons.” Which said to me: “Dylan, your sense of humor has been moping around your brain, wearing sweatpants for a week and living off microwave popcorn; lighten up, man!”
He’s right. During the last couple days, there’s been an electricity in the air; like the charged atmosphere right before a redneck fight in a hot townie bar. All it needed was one “Hey buddy, you just bumped into my girl!” to turn into a sweaty brawl fueled by impotent rage. And I was right there in the fray giving some stink-eye.
Afterwards, Facebook lit up with gloating on one side and pseudo-intellectual suicide notes on the other. Cooler-headed friends have called for a moratorium on all posts of a political nature. I have agreed to participate provided the ban also includes all Facebook status updates like: “Whoo im glad THATS over with!! ;p LOL.” What are you trying to communicate? Are you inviting me into the conversation, or is it just a Status Fart?
See, there I go again. Picking a fight. What happened to “the Dude abides?”
Dave, this is for you:
Here’s an actual conversation that I had with my Grandmother when I was 3:
3-YEAR-OLD DYLAN: Gramma, what’s this?
GRAMMA: That’s your belly button?
3-YEAR-OLD DYLAN: Why?
GRAMMA: That’s because, before any baby comes to Earth, God pokes him in the belly and says: “You’re done. (Poke.) You’re done. (Poke.) You’re done.”
I laid awake that night thinking: “What does He do to the ones that aren’t done?”
Of course today, I know that God feeds those babies to the angels. (That’s where we got the name “angel food.”) The angels devour the angel food babies like piranha and, 8 hours later, the angels poop out Twinkies.
And that is why Twinkies have such a long shelf life.*
You’re right, Dave, I do feel better.