Judge Me Harshly By My Snack Food Choices

I've been writing this blog now for over two and a half years and, in that time, I think I've presented you guys with a fair representation of what exactly it's like to be me, C-dog. Not that the world was exactly clamoring for information on the subject, mind you. But still, day in, day out, come rain or come shine, I've been here... plopping knowledge on you pleasant-smelling people... laying naked my soul before you all and accepting your adoration, yes, but also your scorn, pity, careless whispers, nude photos, and drinks bought for me out of fear because I threatened you with a rusty hunk of metal ripped off an old shopping cart.

So, given the history we have together, I think I finally feel comfortable admitting something to you that's... well... a little difficult. I've hinted at it before, of course, but I've never just come right out and said it. At least I don't think so; I've posted A LOT on ZFS! over the years and I'll be goddamned if I'm going to take the time to wade hip-deep through the archives on any kind of fact-checking mission. You have any idea how much bullshit is in there? Let's just say having to sort through the drunken ramblings of a madman (even if said madman is me) makes a haymaker to the temple feel like a deep-tissue massage with full release.

Anyway, I'm stalling. This is really hard for me to say, but... fuck it... it's time to come clean, in front of God (or whomever) and everybody (y'all). Okay, here we go:

Deep Breath

Kids, seriously, I am just the worst.

That's it; that's my big announcement. I am just the worst person in the world, pretty much hands down. I mean, okay, you could probably make a case that whomever the guy is that's causing all the problems in Darfur is worse than I am, and maybe there's a serial killer out there dispatching nurses in parking lots... he's most likely worse than me if you break down all the facts on graph paper and use a calculator and whatever but... these special cases excepted... your ol' pal C-dog is literally the worst person on the planet.

You know how you can tell? Look at my choices in snack foods and extrapolate outwards from that. Don't worry, my confused lambies... I've brought with me to class an example that will clear up all your questions and quite possibly even get you laid (I don't know how it could get you laid, exactly, but I guess it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility).

Here is what I ate as a snack during the shortened Game 5 of last night's World Series broadcast:

The Ingredients

-A bag of Tostitos Scoop-style corn chip
-A container of sour cream
-A bag of shredded cheddar cheese
-A bottle of Louisiana-brand hot sauce

Method of Consumption

Take one Tostitos Scoop and dip it into the container of sour cream, getting a liberal amount of the product into the handy bowl-shape of the chip. Next, gather a healthy pinch of the shredded cheddar cheese... generic-brand, please, as it is much, much sadder... and place it on top of the sour-creamed chip. Then, add a few drops of the hot sauce, because you need something to cut through all that rich fattiness and give it some flavor. Finally, eat that motherfucker while taking stock of your life and trying to figure out where exactly you took the wrong turn that lead you here, eating two kinds of dairy and cayenne pepper squeezings on corn chips while sitting on the floor surrounded by Tostitos shrapnel and dropped cheese. Repeat as necessary until your heartbeat starts to sound like someone trying to pull a fence post out of a mud puddle (blorp-SPLORTCH, blorp-SPLORTCH, blorp-SPLORTCH).

See what I mean? Who eats sour cream straight out of the container? Who sprinkles it with cheese and hot sauce and shoves it in their face like some sort of swamp hog that learned to approximate human speech patterns well enough to fake the world into not calling Animal Control every time he wanders into the grocery store for more tasty, tasty dairy products?

The worst person in the world, that's who. Hi, how ya doin'? Jesus Christ, it's no wonder I'm still unemployed. It's frankly a miracle that people don't routinely drag me into dark alleys with the specific purpose of pinning me down so they can shit directly in my face. I'm lucky the government hasn't gotten involved.

Yikes. I've really got to make some life changes. Starting with snack foods and then working my way out in a spiral to all the other stuff that's horribly, horribly wrong with me. Oh man... oh man... it's so lonely here at the bottom of life's septic tank. But looking upward, I can see the bright, hot sunshine of an existence well-lived. It's only a pinpoint now, but I'll make it. Yes, I will make it there one day soon!

NOTE: Seriously though, it WAS a pretty tasty snack, all things considered. Not for everyone, I'm sure... probably not going to secure me a bust in the Culinary Hall of Fame... but... mmmm... so delicious in my mouth like a chunk of Heaven blown out of the sky by Cajuns using a homemade dairy rifle that works so well, people forget it doesn't exist.