So today I bend the rules yet again in the interests of chasing my pet obsession: Cheetos. Like Captain Ahab gunning down Moby Dick at the expense of his life, I chase down these orange twisters of petrified fat at the expense of health, personal relationships, and sanity. There’s something terrible about Cheetos which is their drive to get you to commit a slow form of suicide by inhaling an entire bag, even while you’re fully aware they aren’t good for you. I’m at least fairly certain they contain trace amounts of crack cocaine within the confines of their orange, substance-not-yet-known powder.
While You’re Inhaling an Entire Bag: The first ten bites can’t come fast enough. I like to see how many I can fit into my mouth without a drink of water to dilute their toxicity, every inch the addict. About halfway through the bag you start to slow down…you begin to wonder about space and time and your day’s place in the universe and how you don’t really want to waste it by eating an entire bag of Cheetos and recuperating from it the rest of the day…But, just a few more handfuls won’t hurt right? Then you can save some for later…
After You’re Done: The entire bag is gone and you are scraping the remnants of powder from the corner of the bag even though you have contracted “Salt Blindness” from lethally high doses of sodium. You feel terrible, defeated, and depressed you’ve let the day devolve into this. You swear it won’t happen again…for another two weeks at least.
Impotence Level: You can’t even see straight, let alone get excited about anything resembling sex. The closest you’re getting to sex is lying on the couch for 8 straight hours of TV-watching.
Heart Attack Level on a Scale of 1 to 5: It doesn’t matter, you WILL get the Cheetos again, and your crippling obsession will probably kill you before your orange powdered, Cheetos covered heart can.