It Ain't Easy Writin' Cheesy

Last night I was sitting on the couch, a bag of Cheetos at my side, remote in my hand. Surfing through a never ending onslaught of crappy reruns, pathetic "reality" shows and a cluster of clip shows. Finally, somewhere in the 300s, I found a channel I could handle. Cinemax.

Cinemax at 2am.

I woke up in the morning terrified. My **** was orange! The channel still on Cinemax, the Cheetos bag empty, I put two and two together just as I was about to call 911. Damn cheesy fingers.

That bit was stolen. I'm not Carlos Mencia, I can admit when I flagrantly steal other people's jokes. What I won't apologize for is my obsession with the cheesy crunch of the joyous Cheetos. A special place in my heart for Chester Cheetah.

That sunglasses wearing, hard partying animal that was introduced to a waiting public in need of something more than just Spuds McKenzie.

Remember Spuds McKenzie kids? The dog in the Hawaiian shirt that loved drinking Bud Light? What happened to the brilliant advertising minds behind that one (hmm... future blog idea). Perhaps both they and Spuds died slow painful deaths from liver cirrhosis. One wouldn't think a dog's liver could handle that much of the beast.

Chester (the coolest thing to ever have the name Chester) gave us a substance so addictive it falls somewhere between the paid-for love of a stranger and heroin.

The simple combination of a slightly puffed corn crunch with a powdered cheese normally only found in box of cheap Mac & Cheese. Yet for some reason it works. It is acceptable. It is popular. Be you a stoner, morbindly obese or just bored, this food can fill the void that you have had in your life since you realize mom was wrong and that you really are a loser.

This brand has gone through phases of body dimorphism. From puffs, to balls, to hand shapes (no idea on that one), yet always returning to a shape that vaguely resembles a log, piece of feces or shalaylee.


The later seeming to indicate that the Irish had something to do with this one. Perhaps in an attempt to finding something other than whiskey to have with pints of Guinness.

Put it in a small wooden bowl, set it on a bar. Let it get prodded at by untold numbers of fingers that have been to untold places. And still, they will get eaten. So good that even the risk of explosive diarhhea won't deter.

Though let's face it, eat enough of them with beer and you are going to be on the throne for a long time anyway.

Nothing can be said about this paramount of snack foods that hasn't be theorized and prophesied by ganja addicts world wide, yet still it must be mentioned. It must be remembered and heralded as one of the few foods that didn't seem to be vilified by the Atkins craze.

Perhaps shield by the realization that they aren't good for you anyway, so why give a f*** how many carbs are in a handful of the little blaze orange shalaylees?

Marvel in their color as it does not exist in nature. Wonder how the creator was never given a Noble prize. Pry open your wallet and spend the extra dollar on the Family Size bag, because let's face it, the calories are going to be the make it or break it point between you sporting a six-pack or a keg for a belly.

As the bard said, "It ain't easy bein' cheesy." Of course, it ain't easy bein' fat either, though somehow we all find a way to live with it.