We’been through it all, you and I. You’re an American treasure. You put the fat in “fat kid.” No, seriously, you’re snacks are, like, really bad for you. The way I see it, you folks are probably responsible for at least 5% of childhood obesity in America.
But let’s forget about the fat kids. Wait, that sounded harsh… let’s forget about the kids who are guaranteed a future of heart problems and diabetes. Because let’s face it, this isn’t about them.
This is about you. You and your Twinkies, and your Ho-Hos, and your Sno Balls. Noticing a pattern here? i’ll give you a hint, think of the vaguely pornographic…
Well, if you haven’t gotten it by now, you don’t deserve to be in the fast-paced world of the snack cake industry. All of your names have their own little meanings. I bet you’d be shocked with what you could find if you just took the time to Urban Dictionary half these things. Why, I still remember the shock on my sister’s face as I explained to her just why I always laugh when I see Twinkies. “Oh, I just thought it was, like, the dessert…” she said, still slightly in shock. So thanks a lot Hostess. Thanks to your crass names, paired with my immaturity, I’m pretty sure she’s scarred.
Traumatized Twinkie Eater