I searched Walmart yesterday morning for Twinkies. After hearing the report that Hostess, the preservative-laden, snack cake maker would cease operations, I figured it was time to revisit my childhood indulgence. Walmart had none to offer. Simultaneously, sales on E-Bay spiked.
For some people, the limited good of Ding Dongs, Ho Hos, and other Hostess factory favorites spelled profit. For me, the death of Twinkies spells disaster.
While I've done very little planning for the Zombie Apocalypse, three items on my list are batteries, bottled water, and Twinkies. I can think of no other food better suited for a global pandemic. Rumor has it a box of Twinkies can last decades. If not twenty years, it could nurture a remnant of survivors as they battled Zombies and rebuilt America (or whatever country has the supply) for at least five.
But I cannot afford $25.00 a box. Black Friday deals concern me more than alien invasions or undead uprisings.
And if I'm truly honest, I'm not sure I buy all the hype of surviving the Zombie Apocalypse. The Darwinian instinct is not so strong in me. In fact, I work from a different lens altogether. If Survival of the Fittest demands stockpiling sponge cake and AAA batteries, I'm going to assume I'm created for a different end. Alkaline and corn syrup aren't the recipe for a meaningful life.
No: I'll stick to the biblical version. Glorified bodies sound more promising than undead armies. Golden streets look better than golden cakes. Of course, the new earth will not skimp on the creme filling.