An Ode to Peanut Butter Twix

It's beckoned me.

At every gas station, at every 7-11, at every vending machine. I've done quite well at resisting thus far, knowing full well that "just once" would open the flood gates for a new generation of junk food cravings, but yesterday--in a moment of weakness--I succumbed.

I walked into a 7-11. Why? I don't know. I went in for no reason in particular, although I do recall a strange, magnetic sensation propelling me through the revolving door. And there it was before me: the veritable apogee of all that is scrumptious. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Cookie. Crunchy, yet smooth. Rich, yet airy.

After weeks of denying myself, the temptation got to be too much. I'm not a nun, for Pete's sake! I eagerly paid for my wares and hurried outside to savor what was sure to be a glorious mistake.

I delicately opened the wrapper and beheld the apex of human existence: two four-inch long dark chocolate wafers, lightly glossed with peanut butter, enveloped in milk chocolate ecstasy. 

Indulgence.

Cherubim fluttered around me as seraphim sang heavenly praises to the God of All That is Tasty and Delicious: Mars, Inc. 

I always thought it was kind of lame how the Fall of Man happened over fruit and not like Belgian chocolate or anything. Or at least a Hershey bar, for crying out loud. I always thought that, had I been Eve, Adam and I would still be living in paradise surrounded by cute snow leopards or something. But yesterday, as I partook of myForbidden Fruit, I understood where Eve must have been coming from. I guess indulgence is relative.

Is there a more perfect junction of palatable pleasure? Nay. The food industry has reached its zenith, for all future developments will most certainly pale in comparison to the Herculean achievement that is the peanut butter Twix.

A pregnant woman's dream.

One of the Perks of Being a Political Science Major

Sometimes when you're studying for finals, it feels more like you're reading a Dan Brown novel...

He was so close he could taste it.

Dr. Bruce Ivins was a breath away from discovering a vaccine for the anthrax virus. Dollar signs flashed before his eyes. The government would pay millions for it. Perhaps a Noble prize was in his future? The possibilities were both endless and alluring for a man with humble Ohio beginnings.

Unfortunately, the government placed strict regulations on testing anthrax drugs on animals. His research hit a dead end. This news did not bode well for Ivins who was, in fact, deeply mentally disturbed. He personally admitted to having severe issues with depression and paranoia...

I'm a little dream-self, short and stout.
I'm the other half of Bruce — when he lets me out.
When I get all steamed up, I don't pout. 
I push Bruce aside, then I'm free to run about.

Suddenly, in 2001, people around the United States started receiving anthrax in their mail. U.S. Senator Tom Daschle. Patrick Leahy. The news stations at ABC, CBS, NBC. People were dying.

Initially, Ivins was invited to be an investigator on the case, having himself obtained a PhD. in microbiology. For some time, the FBI focused its investigation on Steven Hatfill, considering him to be the chief suspect in the attacks. In March 2008, however, authorities exonerated him. 

After Hatfill was no longer considered a suspect, Ivins began "showing signs of serious strain". As a result of his changed behavior, he lost access to sensitive areas at his job. Ivins began submitting false anthrax samples to the FBI (to throw investigators off his trail?) and was unable to provide "an adequate explanation for his late laboratory work hours" around the time of the attacks, according to the government documents.

Late in July 2008, investigators informed Ivins of his impending prosecution for his alleged involvement in the 2001 anthrax attacks that Ivins himself had previously assisted authorities in investigating.

On the morning of July 27, 2008, police found Dr. Bruce Edwards Ivins unconscious in his home. He had overdosed on prescription Tylenol with codeine. Suicide. Two days later, on a bed in Fredericks Memorial Hospital, he took his secrets to the grave.

My Top 10 Facebook Grievances

Mmmkay. Full disclosure: I enjoy Facebook as much as anybody, but there are certain things people do on it, The Shining Beacon of TMI, that irk me beyond belief.

Under the banner of social decency, I have decided to list (in no particular order) my top 10 Facebook grievances (hey, Martin Luther must have gotten his start somewhere too, right?). If you have committed one of the following offenses: fear not. It doesn't make you a bad person. I just groan when you pop up (AGAIN) on my newsfeed.

1. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Woodstock was soooo 40 years ago. "Peace and love" are NOT religious views. Nor is "karma" a political view. If you're not a religious person, then just say so. If you really don't know what's going on in politics, there's handy little option for you: "moderate."

2. Needlessly taking quizzes. Now, don't get me wrong. I think some of the quizzes on here are fun. But when people take quizzes like "What temple will you get married in?" when they're ALREADY MARRIED, it gets a little ridiculous. Do you really need to take the "How well do you know so-and-so?" quiz when so-and-so is your mom? Nothing is more annoying then when your newsfeed is clogged up with one person taking 20 random quizzes. C'mon people.

3. Posting song lyrics as your status. I don't know why this bugs me so much. Maybe I'm just not up-to-date with all the new-age emo lyrics that people are into these days. But in my opinion, unless those song lyrics truly describe your life in that moment (e.g. you write "won't you pleeeease pleeeease help me!" as a burglar is about to stab you in the face) then say something else. 

4. Do you seriously have 100 favorite musical artists? You honestly couldn't whittle it down to say, ten-ish? If not, then kudos. You're more musically literate than I (which admittedly isn't hard to be). But I will always harbor a sneaking suspicion that you were really just bored on some idle Saturday with nothing better to do than update your profile.

5. "Deep" statuses (stati?). "Jane is: gazing heavenward...but sees only blackness." Hmm. There are probably more appropriate venues for you to express the metaphysical ramblings of your inner soul other than...a FB status. Just sayin'.

6. Stop taking pictures of yourself. Really. No amount of picture-taking will make you hotter than you actually are. And the whole taking-a-picture-of-yourself-standing-in-front-of-a-mirror: sooo passe. Oh, and you're not the first person to own a Macbook either, trust me. I don't need to see a full album of all you having fun with PhotoBooth. I've seen hundreds of bug-eyed fish faces. They're not funny anymore.

7. Girls: slutty pictures of you acting lesbian with all your friends. I don't wanna see pictures of you squeezing your friend's boob, or like having your tongues jutting out towards each other, or giving each other lap dances. It's not sexy. It's nasty. 

8. Updating your status every five hours. If the only person showing up on your wall is YOU, consider easing up a bit . . .

9. Getting invited to events when I don't live ANYWHERE NEAR YOU. It would be great to celebrate your 21st birthday at the Drunken Monkey, but I don't live in Fort Collins anymore. And I don't drink. And if you're unaware of both those facts...then why are you inviting me to your birthday party??

10. When people's random box is waaay too random. "I would pay to see a life size animatronic dinosaur show. I really would." Yes, I'm talking to you Sierra Robinson :)


The end.