April 30, 2009
Kim likes to think of where I grew up, Golden Valley, Minnesota, as where the Keebler Elves live. Well, it’s true, the Keebler Elves were my best friends growing up, kind of like Neil Diamond’s “Shilo.”
Here’s the problem. I love E.L. Fudge cookies. LOVE them. How could you not? Butter sandwich cookies with fudge creme filling. When the “nutrition” info on a box of two dozen cookies lists the serving size as ONE cookie, you know it’s stuffed with high calorie goodness.
Wait, let me be clearer. The problem isn’t that I love E.L. Fudge cookies, the problem is that I feel like I KNOW these guys. And by “these guys” I mean, you know, the actual cookies.
See? These guys have NAMES. Fast Eddie, Ernie, Elwood, and Buckets.
How cruel is it to make a cookie that is so good you have to stuff 5 in your mouth at once, and at the same time, name the cookies and make them seem like good guys, guys you’d hang with, go bowling with like Lars’s friends in Lars and the Real Girl?
“Hey, nice ball, you’re on FIRE. And, now I’m going to eat your head.”
I brought up the problem at the daily developer meeting the other day, and got no sympathy. All I got were different ways to eat an E.L. Fudge.
“I just bite off the head, then pop the rest of the cookie in my mouth.”
Or, “I just eat the guts, and then the skin.”
I always take a look at the name before I eat a cookie, and apologize, like Daniel Day Lewis in “Last of the Mohicans,” when he kills that deer. “I’m sorry little buddy, but you’re so delicious, I’m going to have to eat you now.” (Or maybe it’s Sling Blade.)
Except Bucket. I don’t apologize to him. He’s kind of a dick.