A Blog About Some Bullshit
This blog is about Fuck Hostess. And I don’t mean that in a good way like ‘oh that hostess is cute,’ I mean the corporate assholes who make the best oversweet munchies for when chips don’t suit the theme. Fuck that company right in its stupid cheap corporate butthole, though I doubt their corporate butthole is big enough to fit a micropenis in because it’s so fucking tight. They probably don’t have a butthole at all, just glutes with a Backside-Ken-Groin of smooth solidity where real entities have buttholes.
I should have set the focus keyword on this to butthole. I’m so mad at Hostess. And this is the second time. The first time was the nonsensical ballyhoo over Twinkies. Remember that? They made some bullshit excuses as to why they had to stop making Twinkies so they could fuck over their employees somehow, then (surprise surprise) after a while of everyone missing Twinkies like mad, they HEY HEY HEY! WE ARE BRINGING BACK THE TWINKIES! REJOICE, YOU MONEY-HAVING FUCKERS, WE WILL SUPPLY YOUR DEMAND!
What they gave us back, the modern Twinkie(s), is (are?) not what they were before the little ploy. No, no. Don’t fucking argue with me, they are not. They are still the same golden sponge cake and cream filling (or creme if you insist, nobody gives a shit about the difference between cream and creme anyhow), but they are significantly SMALLER and LESS CREAM-FILLED. The proportions aren’t even the same and they don’t taste the same.
That’s right, same price, less Twinkie.
That did make me mad, though not as badly as it made hubby. He was livid because he liked Twinkies the best (aside from King Dons…and I’m not even going there). And nobody ever called them on it that I’m aware of, because everyone was just glad to have a real Twinkie again and not some Little Debbie or off-brand knockoff (Little Debbie’s great too but not their knockoff Hostess shit, don’t even argue with me, I know what I’m talking about).
Cut to a couple months back. He’s going to the store, and naturally he asks me in a servile fashion if I should desire anything upon his return.
Ah, yes…Suzy Qs. My favorite. I send him on his merry way to fetch me my favorite cakey goodness, and…what? He returns empty-handed with some pathetic knock-off of a Suzy Q? Mrs. WHO? That’s not a real brand! Nobody warned me they stopped making Suzy Q’s. Those rotten bastards! How dare they!
Well, I have learned to cope with disappointment so I got over it in a few weeks. Until tonight.
Tonight, we find a box of NEW BACK FROM THE DEAD Suzy Q’s, marketing like no tomorrow from its Suzy Q Box ass! Yay! I demand it, and thus it is purchased for me. When we return home I open the box gleefully to indulge in one of my (very rare) chocolate indulgences. I knew they’d be packaged individually, so I forgive that. Of course! They even do that with Twinkies, which sort of defeats the purpose (one Twinkies? Paradox! and stupid to boot), but I digress.
As soon as I unwrapped it, I knew. The cream didn’t squoosh out when I held it, wrapped, between thumb and forefinger and clawed my way through the bulletproof plastic.
Real Suzy Qs always came pre-squooshed with as much filling on the inside of the package as was between the slices of cake. The reason for this is that the actual measurement of cream in a real Suzy Q was ‘a centifuckton.’ (Yeah, believe it or not, ‘fucktons’ are the SI fundamental unit of creme. That’s why people are always saying ‘a metric fuckton.’ Read a book!) This pathetic little SueQ was just…decreamed, is all I can think. Maybe a quarter of the cream filling that I had always gotten in my decades (yes, decades) of eating Suzy Q’s. We’re talking microfucktons here at best.
And make no mistake, those slices of chocolate cake used to be slices. The new SueQ has nicely baked, cohesive surfaces. Two little mini-cakes to each SueQ.
The first one didn’t even stick to the cardboard beneath.
THAT IS NOT A SUZY Q.
Suzy Q’s are a fuckton of cream slathered between two rough-ass hunks of rectangular sliced cake with rounded edges. There is no cohesive, solid top to the cakes like each one was cooked up as a special little snowflake like these damn SueQs. The inside of cake tastes different from the surface of cake. I don’t want every Suzy Q to have special snowflake individual cakes, I want my old rough, porous, un-smooth slices of cake with too much fucking cream, like it’s always been.
And yeah, you bet your life they’re fucking smaller than ever. Compare the weight on the box at Wal-Mart tomorrow with the weight on the picture in this post. I know what the fuck I’m talking about.
Change is fine. It’s usually a good thing. But fucking with perfection is just stupid. You don’t see me getting a breast reduction just to make life easier on my back, do you?
So, in conclusion, fuck you, Hostess. You ruined perfection. Twice. I hope you enjoy your piles of money, because your souls are empty.
And yeah, they’re still one of the ‘better’ companies out there. That’s a whole nother rant, though.