When Hostess finally broke the news that the Twinkie and its days on grocery store/7-11/corner store shelves were officially numbered, half of America burst into a bitter uproar while the other half gently placed their green juices down so they could have both hands available for throwing into the air, as they shouted out a celebratory “HALLELUJAH!!
The country hasn’t felt this divided since like, two weeks ago! But as it turns out, Hostess was just punking all of us anyways. Apparently the company has decided to enter a “meditation” before making the final call on the Twinkie and its destiny. And so with all of this all-American junk food drama and the on-again, off-again nature of the country’s breakup with the Twinkie, I started to think about the junk foods I truly wouldn’t mind seeing leave the planet for GOOD.
There are plenty of foods that, in my humble opinion, have overstayed their welcome on earth and should kindly pack up their prepackaged selves and GO! So without further ado, here are a few foods I would totally be okay with never seeing again because I either a) despise them b) love them too much and therefore must bring myself to set free.
Donut holes. They trick you because they’re small and cute, but in reality they’re just a team of baby donuts messing with your sense of portion control and screwing you over, one evil glazed-over mouthful at a time.
Cheese Whiz. Who would have thought that cheese designed to SQUIRT FROM A CAN would outlive the Twinkie? Under what circumstances does putting cheese whiz into your body feel like a good decision? There’s just no amount of stoned that will ever be able to rationalize your appalling choice to allow this yellow-y colloid into your life.
Jell-O. Or anything “gelatin” for that matter. After numerous chemistry classes and Bill Nye episodes, I’m still totally lost on how a package of powder and hot water magically combine to create this jiggly, untrustworthy semi-solid. Jell-O is hiding something from all of us and I want no part of it! I’m nominating Bill Cosby to polish off the rest of the Jell-O supply on behalf of all of us.
Frosting. Canned, homemade, whatevs. I’m into it. Would I eat a spoon full of butter? No way Jose! But add a little food coloring and an ungodly amount of confectioners sugar to the mix, and I’m ALL ABOUT IT. You know that annoying person at a birthday party or celebratory gathering that picks at her slice of cake, eating the frosting and leaving the baked substance behind? I AM HER. So in an effort to tighten up my social etiquette and my waistline, I proudly stand behind my anti-frosting initiative.
Trail mix, SANS the M&Ms. Is this some sort of cruel joke? Let’s be real — eating trail mix is just an excuse for all of us to go digging for the chocolate bits in a sly attempt to keep our addiction to sugary junk super hush hush. So pseudo trail mix swarming with dried goji berries and healthy crap, be gone! Our relationship is based on a lie and we both know it.
Candy corn. Or as it’s known in some circles, “crack corn.” Or is that just my pet name for it? Moving on. This seasonal treat is the meth of the candy food pyramid, and for that, its presence on earth is a looming threat to all of us. (JK JK CC! Please stay! This was all just my failed attempt at reverse psychology. Don’t be mad. I love you?)
Pie. You’re one of the few desserts that leave me neither tempted nor enticed. So maybe it’s more strategic that I keep you around after all? That way when I’m at holiday parties this year and people offer me a slice, my “Meh, no thank you” will sound totally genuine. And then I’ll get to feel like I actually possess a smidge of will power. A Christmas miracle!
Whipped Cream from the can. There’s something super depressing/terrifying about squeezing your food from pressurized can, but that never seems to stop me from eating Reddi Whip products like I’m the unofficial brand mascot. I don’t trust myself at a gathering where this sugary, cloud-like treat is within arm’s reach. That’s because I know I’ll sell my shame down the river and make a total ass of myself as I try to get every last spritz of whip out of that damn can, down to the last noisy, white confetti-like substance that inevitably explodes as a way to signal that the whip is officially down to the last few drops. Was spraying everyone/everything within a five-foot radius with that unappetizing creamy liquid really worth that baby-sized mound of whipped cream you just produced on your party plate? Yes, yes it was.