Mmmm warm, chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven. They smell heavenly, and their sugary, cocoa aroma almost keeps you from remembering your life is utter garbage. The way they cling to the cookie sheet as you pry the spatula underneath suggests they’ll be as chewy and delicious as ever, even as you watch the world burn on cable news. Billionaires buying up media outlets so they can control access to all our information won’t dissuade you from biting into that first cookie, letting it burn the roof of your mouth ever so slightly, while you pour yourself a three-dollar glass of milk and sob. No supply chain delay has the power to stifle your orgasmic, full-body rush when that last bite goes down. You’re a fucking cookie gobbling, sugar-loving fuck, and you’re proud of it.
Ten cookies came out of that oven, ready to quell the sheer horror of your existence. Each chocolatey bite satiated your need for sugar, while simultaneously dulling your senses enough to forget your fiancée went full-on Q a month ago. Your mother sold her entire estate and is moving to Florida with her pastor, but you have warm Toll House. Your breakthrough infection and chronic diarrhea are no match for another chewy chocolate exit ramp straight to nirvana. A crumbling democracy and hundred-and twelve-dollar gas tank fill-ups wither away in your mind while the next steamy calorie bomb hits your tongue. You’re living your life with no rules, and by golly, why shouldn’t you?
They’re all gone now, all ten of them, but you’ve got a smile from ear to ear. Dough and chocolate bits fill your teeth and cling to your gums, and you’ve overdrawn your checking account for the third time this month. Hungary has declared your former President a national hero, but your kitchen smells like butter pie. Your son thinks birds aren’t real, but good goddamn that last bite was delicious. Your best friend canceled girl’s weekend at Disney because “Satan has taken them,” but there are still a few crumbs left on your plate. A wildfire rages a mile from your home, but you’ve got half a stick of the slice and bakes left, and enough milk to last until the coming civil war. Look at you.
-Captain Soggy
The Soggy Blanket 