Writer. Reader. Part-time hermit. Writing for the void and reading to make sense of our messy world. Gluten-free, vestibular migraine chick in The Shire, waiting for COVID to end.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Whipped Cream Puff
Some people shouldn’t be left alone, unsupervised with a can of Reddi-whip in the vicinity, because even if one of these people I’m referring to eats healthy the bulk of the time – subsisting mostly on whole grains and green leafy vegetables – sooner or later latent fat cells will hijack their brain and demand sugar and fat be downloaded into the system as fast as you can say ‘aerosol can’ yet (perhaps you’ve read about these speaking fat cells, if so you are already aware that they are quite loud and difficult to ignore) cleverly disregarding their demands by offering an apple or carrot will result in their slinking back into their fat pants with their tails between their chubby legs afraid to ask for anything more lest something green gets shoved their way and they lose even more biological ground; but if they receive something to expand their territory, something to delight their appetites, something as appealing and one would think deliciously appeasing as a hit of straight-up sugar and cream laden real whipped cream - it will backfire like any ransom payment and they will surge forth, multiplying and dividing and growing and singing the praises of establishments that unethically sell spectacular decadent desserts late into the night that could easily provide further political gain for the secret unethical mission of ever-expanding minions of adipose tissue.