How the cookie crumbles

So you're not hungry but you want to eat something anyway and since you're eating for eating sake, you might as well eat something that you shouldn't eat anyway, so you go and get one of those goddamn cookies your mom made that have the chunks of Butterfingers in them and are surrounded by perfect cookie medium that is buttery and brown-sugary and chewy. Because the whole episode is about sensory fulfillment, you decide not to put the cookie on a plate and pour a cup of coffee and eat it like a civilized human being at the kitchen table, but instead you look out the picture window above the sink with the expression of a cow watching a passing train and start downing that goddamn cooking and thinking, Goddamn these goddamn cookies. I'm calling Mom right now and telling her never to make the goddamn things again. Goddamn these cookies are good.

In the center of the cookie is one giant huge mother-ship Butterfinger chunk, so you decide to eat all around it and save it for the last perfect bite. Even though all the bites leading up to that last mondo-Butterfinger chunk bite are way effing good, you know that last one is going to kick major ass and you can't wait for it.

You finally get to the kick-ass last bite. But because you are an eff-up, you lose your grip right before you pop it in. No way does it fall into someplace from which it is marginally acceptable to retrieve it like next-to-but-only-touching-a-water-drop-a-little-bit at the bottom of the sink, but instead it plops right into the Spongebob Squarepants Tupperware thingie that has a quarter inch of soapy water in it that totally soaks the last perfect Butterfinger cookie chunk. You go to spew a bunch of bellyaching and start with a loud, "Goddamnit!" then you think, Shut up mother effer. You got to eat that whole great cookie. Don't you bitch about losing one chunk. Go on and get on with your life, yeah.