Like my underwear, I too am slightly imperfect and inelastic,
so it is not for me to judge why hurried thoughtless people do what they do. I
know folks are busy, routine driven, and rarely care anymore about time tested
and TRUE philosophies like ‘Don’t speak until you’re spoken FOR’ or ‘Mind over
PLATTER’. Still, when it comes to the really important choices in life like
‘paper or plastic’, ‘regular or decaf’ or where is the best place to ‘TOSS your
cookies’, I expect a tad more care and respect from my fellow man.
Around my ape cage for example, cookies are a celebrated semi-sweet
staple and major food group which cannot be eclipsed. It really doesn’t matter
if my ‘flour-y friends’ are frosted, sandwiched, soft, waffled, or bagged. All
races and creeds of cookies are revered and treated to a place of prominence in
my air sealed, compacted, and vessel-lined junk-food vault. Whatever leftovers I
haven’t EATEN, end up perfectly organized in a crumb and saliva-free cabinet
that my wife swabs down and secures shut like a greedy Keebler elf in a hollow
tree.
Many thoughtless cretins on the other hand simply throw
their Nabisco’s au naturel’ into some kind of ugly bust of a ceramic cookie
crypt. Not only are those poor mistreated sweet choco treats chipped, abused,
and subjected to ‘crumb-y’ accommodations; but who wants the harried and
unwashed hanging over and handling my favorite discus desserts with
disrespectful disregard? Further who decided it was an appetizing adventure to
yank ol’ Santa’s or Mother Hubbard’s noggin off willy nilly to extract their
internals for a random after school snack.
How can this obvious kookie cookie abuse continue to go on
unchallenged, unchecked and unchanged from generation to generation? I don’t
pull your pets from their filthy cages and immediately subject them to extreme
temperature ‘waterboarding’ in a hot carafe of coffee or mug of chilled milk do
I? Today’s society needs to think more and dunk a little less when it comes to
drowning our lowest of the lowly
cookie’s sorrows merely as a dalliance of dairy delight or ‘cream-between’
guilty pleasure.
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