Sacrifice So We Might Be Reborn: A Eulogy For Hostess Snack Cakes

The walls of Facebook are bleeding yellow cream-filled tears. Grocery store check-out belts are overrun with rectangular boxes of hydrogenated vegetable oil-laden snack cakes. A thirty-five year old eBay addict is looking at his Twinkie The Kid collectible figurine and thinking “yesssssss!”.

Is it the beginning of the end of a sugar-shocked era? Will we suffer intense withdrawals, writhing in our own cravings for the comfort foods of our waywardly nourished youth? Or will we breathe a collective sigh if release from one of our many consumer culture addictions?

I say sleep well, Hostess. You were a beacon of sugary, artificial glee for generations of American consumers. We laughed, we zipped around rooms breaking things, then we crashed into our afternoon naps.

We dinged, donged, cupcaked and ho hoed our way into a diabetic coma. And now we will be forced to awaken to a supermarket shelf filled with one less digestible happy pill.

Will people be confused at first? Maybe. Will we start looking for substitutes to fill in the blank of our deeply hollowed loss? Most certainly. Will we choose something made of actual food? Perhaps. Will we find our way to fruit? Don’t push it.

But we might just, in the candor of the social dialogue aftermath, begin to scrutinize our choices. The end of an era may very well lead to the dawn if a healthier new day.

So, thank you for your sacrifice, Hostess. We will remember you fondly. Ho Ho wishes and Twinkie Dreams.

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