Okay, that last post was a little bleak. Morale is low, the flag is at half-staff, and I have no chocolate in my desk. I do, however, have the vending machine, beacon of caloric coolness , the munchies Mecca. I'm not referring to the Wheel of Death, featuring nitrate-laden hamburgers, entombed behind sliding plastic doors like artifacts excavated from the Pompeii Cafe. Try their corned-beef ash, by the way.
As a limp nod to my health, I've been really bullish on the new Baked Cheetos. When I'm feeling saucy, and there's a little extra waddle in my wingtips, I'll buy a bag of the Flaming Hot. Whatever synthetic blend of chemicals they've added brings the spice, and coats my fingertips in the most unnaturally red gunk. Bon Appetite!
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