Thursday, May 24, 2007


There are many vices for people to choose from. Some are more common than others, and are often dictated by deeply ingrained societal routines practiced within various cultures around the world. Smoking and drinking are still biggies in the US. Their wide acceptance by people from all walks of life is a testament to years of careful market research, scientific formulations, and millions of dollars worth of jam-it-down-your-throat-and-pull-it-out-from-the-bottom-end targeted advertising aimed squarely at keeping these vices legal, romantic, and desirable. No matter how hard those so-called "health experts" try, the ugly and rather sordid reality of what alcohol and cigarettes does to the human body never seems to quite outweigh the sex appeal of a glossy magazine ad featuring an airbrushed babe, her Camel lights, and Mr. Tanned-like-Hamilton Sixpack, with his Sam Adams in tow, on some exotic beach nowhere near Buffalo, NY.

I don't drink or smoke.

I eat Raisinets.

There's a chance I eat too many Raisinets.

But the subtleties of this apparent addiction don't typically bubble to the surface of my own hyper-awareness of self until an unexpected causal factor influences the carefully controlled environment that I have enshrouded myself.

So I'm reclined in my comfy chair, feet up, fan blowing, hilarious re-run of "30 Rock" on the tele. The hot, humid day's air still dominates the space. No, the Kenmore UltraFreeze 8000 has not been installed yet. I'm wearing shorts and doing my best to remain comfortable. And what better way to accelerate one's path to inner-peace and comfort than to embrace the personal vice that might as well have printed on its product label: "This product will definitely make Chet happy---Fuckin' aye right it will!"

Method of consumption goes something like this:

  • Carefully snip off top of vacuum-sealed bag (That's right, I said bag. People should not be eating Raisinets from a tiny cardboard box unless they are at the movies and have just spent $3.50 for the privilege to do so.)
  • Cradle bag-o-chocolatey goodness in left hand while plucking out individual 'Nets and popping into mouth.
  • Savor the moment before chewing but be sure to secure any renegade shriveled grapies between cheek and gum before giggling or cackling at "30 Rock" funnies. Choking is no laughing matter at Bubbleboy's house.
  • Repeat above steps until tummy indicates too much of a good thing by making "gurgle sounds of the Yeti," or the right hand reaches bottom of bag.
Things were going well. The yeti was held at bay and my right hand was hitting bag bottom. Then I noticed a few stray Raisinets huddled in the sharp inside corner crease and decided a quick, upside-down shake should be enough to dish out what remained.

It didn't work.

These suckers were melted together and spot-welded in place. At times like this, only a surgical slice down the side of the bag will work. Then one needs to use his front teeth like a beaver to extrude the delicacies. To some, this act might appear quite pathetic. Fear not. It's perfectly okay to do this if, like me, the thought of popping little, melted, rabbit-turd-lookin', chocolate-covered raisins into your mouth is, quite simply, the culmination of all that is good in this world we live.

Fuckin' aye.

1 comment:

well then, jenji said...

By your lack of reference, I can only assume that you are/were safely positioned in the recliner sans the onezie. I realize it's downright Dante outside, but for the love of the sorry "sleeping" people below your apartment, put on some damn clothes, man!