look how happy it makes us! esp. after having the worst day ever. EVER.
9.27.2007
today lisa and i bought a carvel M&m ice cream cake b/c its what happiness tastes like
9.24.2007
An essay on why candy is the equivalent of love. (And babies, but they happen to not be as delicious)
While Ron Burgandy, the greatest news anchor of all time, loves scotch, poetry and his good friend Baxter here, he is missing the essential component. And I’m pretty sure it would have kept the bad man from punting Baxter. After flinging that filling burrito out the window he forgot to offer the bad man emotional compensation for his troubles. Anything can be fixed by the healing powers of granulated sugar.
When little children stick their little sticky hands out of the grocery cart, they risk certain death for the most delicious thing they can find… and it is not fish sticks (I just vomited in my mouth a little bit). It’s the little slices of transfat heaven. Who needs their original heart when they have a newly manufactured artificial heart that pumps on love. Love will keep us alive. And that love needs to be fed… not broccoli, not oranges, not even baked potatoes. It needs candy.
If you think of your ability to love like a coal-powered furnace, you need a substantial amount of finger-fed happiness to keep that love-flame alive. Candy is not the only option; rainbows, babies and glitter will work also (man, I love glitter); but it is the most abundant. Plus the other options can have terrible side effects – rainbows can turn you into a gay like Christopher j., babies can actually land you in jail, and well, glitter tastes like plastic. Best to stick with candy, and just keep babies as an occasional treat.
Scientists have tried to veer people away from the soul-comforting ways of candy, much as they try to cover up the true origins of dinosaurs, with their fictional “obesity epidemic.” If you believe that shit, you probably believe in global warming also and you’re obviously not very bright. They just want everyone to be thin and miserable like them, and Hitler. Candy is poison to evil. All of the great figures of the past 6000 years (the creation of the earth) who promote love offer candy along with their message. Santa: candy. Easter bunny: candy. President Taft: candy. People who hate candy? Bloody Mary, Genghis Khan, Crystal Archb*ll (aka: satan) and Hilary Clinton, that bitch just wants to make us get healthcare – obviously she doesn’t understand what Americans really need. We need candy!!!
My studies show that candy actually increases your metabolism when used as intended (to fuel your love flame). Some people hoard their love and that is why they are fat. It has nothing to do with gluttony or their thyroid or lack of exercise. They eat all the candy they can get their hands on and refuse to bestow the benefits on other people. Candy contains little molecules called “luvOcytes” that burst when your body gets warm from love. Some scientists call these fat cells, but we’ve already established that they work for Hitler, so fuck what they say.
Candy has the power to save the world. Rather then war, we should be sending people baskets filled with candy because nobody can stay angry when they are consuming a chocolate bunny or some Swedish fish. If only Ron had known the truth Baxter wouldn’t have had to speak Spanish to bears.
It would also cure crystals cronic anger. Eat some candy honey and you’ll get over it.
Oh snap.
Yes, I woke up in the middle of darren’s back yard at 6 am. But, no I don’t remember how I got there.
I arrived in Tampa Friday night, the air warm and dense. I had to take my black sequined zebra stripe sweater off almost immediately as I navigated the balmy air. It was glorious. Everything went right. My flight arrived about 40 minutes early and I ceremoniously stood at the pick up strip dancing while navigating Darren in my direction.
“Im across from the weird fountain… with the sticks… and the water… and I don’t know… im under the sign that says pick up here!” Un-befuddled by my inability to form coherent sentences, I continued dancing. Two pilots came up behind me and commented on amazing dancing abilities. I am pretty awesome at dancing.
Many things happened that first night. It began with Darren announcing our eminent attendance at a frat-themed party for law students desperately grasping at the leisurely lives of undergrad. I was, of course, totally down and convinced Darren that the only way to fully embrace the evening’s theme was to consume the ultimate in fratastic beverages: naddy ice. Oh, the sweet, sweet glistening drops of 6 percent naddy.
Things only kept improving. Darren’s hot girlfriend came over dressed like a slut. Plus. Darren’s roommate wore a matching visor-sport coat array in multi-pastel threaded plaid. Super Plus. Darren and I deliriously got wasted by 9 pm off the shittiest beer known to man. Super Extreme Plus.
So we go to this party, and it pretty awful (I think?), I don’t really remember, which in case you haven’t noticed, is one of the themes. But I do know that two of the girls we went with punched people. Seriously… in the gut… bitches in tampa are crazy. I mean there were only 20 people there and 2 of them felt the need to connect fist to vital organs. POW. Awesome. At least if I remembered I think it would be pretty awesome. Fucking naddy ice.
Then some other shit happened that I don’t rememeber involving bars, alcohol and mine and darren’s inability to walk? Blah, blah, blah. That’s what I hear, but im not sure I believe the validity of the statement. Tampa is full of unreliable sources. Sort of like the new york times.
Honestly, I cant verify much until I woke up and found myself staring at darren’s back door around 5 am wearing only my magic Pajama bottoms and a tank top. At this time I became bathed in understanding of why I was so cold, and perhaps in a little bit of a predicament. It was the grass. I picked myself up and tried the door. It was locked. And man, was I sleepy. So I looked around and lay back down in the middle of the grass and tried to go to sleep. It was just too cold, all the dew and the wetness. Unacceptable…anywhere back here to sleep?
Looking, looking, AH HA! A hammock, just my luck. Slept there for awhile, but really I guess in September tampa gets a little chilly at night when you are covered in wet. Lame. So then I had a pretty brilliant idea… try the front door. Knock, knock knock. OMG its opening. Its 6:30 am and Darren’s girlfriend opens the door with a look of utter shock on her face. Skkkirrrttttt… What!
“Why, why are you outside?” She asked.
“uh, I don’t know, I sort of just woke up out here”
“But I put you to bed… I literally tucked you in”
“oh well I don’t know, I guess I wanted to go outside?”
She then tried to get me to go back to the bed, but I flat out refused, instead preferring to sleep on the mildly retarded little coach in the living room, feet sticking up in the air, while she tried to call a cab to go some volunteering gig at 7. Obviously, Jesus sent her to look over us. At this time the faint sounds of Darren’s dry heaving can still be heard from the bathroom.
Later we went to ihop. It was delicious. All were shocked when Darren and his girlfriend were still together that afternoon. I like to think it has to do with how awesome I am. I am the glue that keeps other people’s relationships together.
So then we did it again Saturday night, only instead of waking up in the middle of the yard I let Darren’s roommate convince me to leave me shoes and my purse at someone else’s apartment and walk home. Occasionally, I’m not very bright. But at least I wasn’t swimming in the apartment complex pool in a spongebob squarepants thong, which is more then I can say for some.
Im pretty this is an account of the greatest weekend in recorded history. Probably before that too, but Im not splitting hairs about it.
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