(Warning: This post is not intended for the weak of stomach or vegetarians.)
War is hell! For three months you have been embroiled in the Battle of the Bulge. Your weapons of choice were knives, forks and spoons. Your rebel yell, "Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet," resounded over the theaters of conflict.
....First in war, first in a piece of the pie.. will be a fitting epitaph for you, a Soldier of Fortune Cookie. You served with valor during the savory sorties. You rose through the ranks by attrition in the form of field promotions. You entered into battle as a Pastry Private, earning top honors and advancing quickly to a Shortcake Sergeant. As a Cupcake Corporal you were at your finest.
....How did this war start? Who began the hostilities? Who fired the first shot (of booze)? It happened in three phases:
Phase 1: Chocolate Nirvana
Admit it, it all began around Halloween. First there was the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, just one at first. Before too long you were sniping another every time you walked past the secret hiding place. Equally tasty were the Snickers and Kit Kats. What harm was there in snagging a bag of M&Ms Peanuts?
....It turns out that the candy was just a minor skirmish, a precursor to:
Phase 2: Shut Off at the Salad Bar
Actually the Salad Bar was unceremoniously shut down. Rabbit food was repast non gratis. Preparations were underway for Thanksgiving, and it was going to be rough enough without roughage littering a spot better reserved for the gravy bowl.
....Turkey Day - this was your finest hour. (Canolis to the left of you, corn bread to the right of you, a cornucopia in front of you, into the galley you strode for 600,000 calories.) Never in the field of human consumption was so much eaten from so many plates by so few.
....All you ever needed was just a Slice of Life, turkey, ham, cake, pie, or even pizza! All you ever wanted was seconds - of each!
Phase 3: Romancing the Gall Stone
Just when you thought it was safe to diet, lo and behold it was Christmas time! There had been no truce called. Everywhere you looked there were stockpiles of ammunition bursting with flavor. There were presents all over the place, and that wasn't counting the wrapped ones beneath the Yule tree. After a night of bivouac, you stretched and proclaimed, "I love the smell of apple pie in the morning."
....You checked your belt and were pleased to discover that you still had two more notches left. If the battle lasted too long, you would be frantically seeking an ice pick or an awl. You had enlisted for the duration. It was the American thing to do. You were a true Warrior of Want Not.
There are rumors that all hostilities will end on the second day of January. You begin to think of all those field rations...
....War is hell!
What are you doing for New Year's Eve? I, for one will not be out there partying with some hot chicks. No, I'll be home with some Cold Duck.