Day Of The Twinkie

One cake to rule them all, one cake to find them.
One cake to bring them all, and in the fatness bind them.

My roommate (long story, not my choice) burst through the front door with two large grocery bags grinning from ear to ear (both him and the bags). I just knew he was going to say something moronic.

"Hey, Harry, did you hear the news?? I loaded us up on Twinkies big time!"

For the love of God, kill me now. There's no possible good explanation for this. A breathless report ensued regardless.

"The results are in! Twinkies got, like, total majority vote. They are now totally healthy!"

"That's a strange way to tell me you love me when your stupid is all I can see."

His sour face registered his displeasure. "You just want to ruin everything! That's all you ever want to do. Who would love your dumb ass anyway?" Then he thought some more: "Damn, I hate you!"

Continuing with the song lyric, I dryly replied: "If you just want to cry to somebody, don't cry to me."

Larry stormed off to the kitchen. I could hear him slamming the Twinkies into the cabinets. I was in a mood, though.

"This is where the flute solo comes in!" I yelled loud enough for him to hear. I knew that'd only confuse him further but he'd repress any response to deny me 'satisfaction'. Of course, knowing that only satisfied me all the more.

Larry was mercifully quiet when returning to the room, anxious to not acknowledge my presence. I wondered if there were a way to make this permanent.

He grabbed the remote, turning on "Big Bertha", a show he knew is worse the fingernails on a chalkboard to me. For some reason I decided to sit there and wait it out; two stubborn losers mired in economic bondage.

When I saw him squirming, barely able to watch, I knew I'd made the right decision. I could only imagine the conversation going on in that head!

Then Larry the volcano erupted, his head swiveling towards me in exorcist fury.

"You just have to be right about everything, don't you? You're right and everyone else is wrong!"

Beautiful part was I hadn't even made a contrary argument yet to his Twinkies health food conviction. His argument was with his own self-doubt.

"What can I say?" I smirked. "I was born this way."

The Lady Gaga reference worked twofold as it continued my musical references and and I also knew Larry proudly considered himself a monster Gaga fan.

"It was voted on," he emphasized, as if to rally untold millions to his side.

Given his conservative nature I simply decided to acquire his goat.

"You're a religious guy, Larry. Tell me, did Jesus get boners?"

"I'll show you!" Larry stormed off the couch and back into the kitchen. His rather ambiguous reply did leave me a bit bothered, actually. I mean, just what exactly is he going to show me??

Unaware of my runaway imagination, Larry triumphantly returns to obviously sit back down on the couch only this time with an armful of Twinkies which he conspicuously begins to unwrap and devour as loudly as possible.

"Fwom now on, dis all I eatin'," he declared while chewing nonstop like an angry cow.

"You cast your vote. Nature cast Her vote. We'll see who wins."

"Dat right! Dat right! You fin'ly seein' da light!"