Sometimes when pondering life, I wonder: Why do people even like twinkies?

My first impression of them is positive, with their light, fluffy filling gently encased by a soft, sweet cake.

And I think to myself “Wow, this has to be the climax of American ingenuity.”

But then I taste it. The cake turns to rubber, the filling to a cheap cream that you’d expect to work well as insulation, and I spit out the horrid, vile, chemically infested “treat” that I had to have been hypnotized to instinctively devour.

I change my ways, and I make a pact with silence that never again will I participate in the disgusting act of attempting to consume a twinkie.

And suddenly, it seems my individual, silent boycott made a difference. For a time, there was a world without twinkies. Oh, how the addicted souls groaned, as they loathed the change, and even though they had many alternatives, they were only stubborn.

Twinkies are gross. Urgashmurgle.