Friday, October 29, 2010
Life, my friends, is a journey for us not to understand. It is a series of random events, and we make it through each day not knowing what tomorrow will bring. However, on this planet, there is a certainty that is pissing me off. Every year, Reese's Peanut butter cups get smaller and smaller. I used to be able to count on a cup that will quench my chocolate craving. Now, my sacred cup has shrunk to the size of a testicle. They say the only certainty in life is death and taxes. Well, like an old man's boner with Erectile Dysfunction, Reese's Peanut butter cups are shrinking to a flaccid poof. Like Sodom and Gomorrah, I'm going to rain fire up in this motha.
Halloween is a time of joyous decadence and a menagerie of masquerades. However, F*$K YOU REESE'S PEANUT BUTTER CUPS. You place this term on your cups: "Fun Size." There is nothing fun about your size. It is a piss me off size. You take a bite, and half of it is gone. You take another bite...and you are left feeling empty, lonely, and depressed. You lick the black paper thing the cup comes in to try to get more, but this lickage is met with failure. Like a heroin addict boiling old spoons, I scrape and lick in anguish for more of your chocolate peanut buttery high. I once loved you Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, but your CD (Cuptile Dysfunction) has me searching for new candies. We had a good run.
I bid you farewell Douche Cups.