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Hostess Hunters- Once More Into The Fray

I gots me a Whirlpool, it seats about 20, so hurry up and bring your Cupcake money!

With the engine buzzing at 6500 rpm, I weave my way through traffic like a jack rabbit through the desert vegatation. Unlike the rabbit who is being hunted, I am the hunter, searching for the last stronghold of delectable goodness that is the Hostess Twinkie. Now I don’t claim to be any sort of pioneering tracker, listening for hooves on the ground of the great plains, but I do fancy myself a cuppity cake every now and then, so the search is on. If you are doing 25 in 45, then you best pull over because I don’t play that game buddy; sidewalks are just extra passing lanes.

My day began like any other, out of bed by noon, ready to work by 2, but then everything changed. A dark shadow descended upon the world of cheap culinary creation, and it’s name is BCTGM, which is short for the Baker Confectionary Tobacco Workers Grain Millers Union; also known as the devil. Well, at least they put the devil in the devil’s food anyway. You see these people didn’t want to play ball with Hostess, so Hostess shut down their operations, effectively killing Twinkie the Kid, Suzy Q and all their palatable brethren. With such evil on the horizon I knew then that I needed to make a run.

First I hit the Hostess store. For years this is where I bought my Twinkies and HoHos; they are fresh and discounted, which makes them taste even better. Much to my chagrin, the store was packed with blue hairs on Rascals loaded down with the stuff I wanted; there was nothing left! I grabbed up a few loaves of Wonder Bread and the two boxes of zingers that were left and got in line. The clerk said the Twinkies only lasted 10 minutes, poor little bastards. 30 minutes later, I was out the door. To say that I was depressed would be to say that the sun is yellowish. I stopped by a gas station and found  3 twin-packs of the magical creme-filled pastry that I loved so much in my youth. I took them home and shared with my wife and children the last Twinkies on the face of the planet. The other stuff went to the freezer.

Fighting through a fog of nostalgia mixed with depression, we loaded up to take a trip to town, my oldest had swim practice. On the way I get a message from a friend, letting me know that she had heard of a few boxes still on the shelves at Walmart. I looked and my wife and she gave me what I needed, that small nod of approval to enter into what can only be described as “Going Jefferson”. And I did.

All local, county and state laws be damned, I was on a mission. If I had sirens and lights, we would have been running hot all through town. First it was the west-side Walmart. The shelves were nearly picked clean, only a few bags of Donettes and Zingers were left. With those safely in the cart, I headed for the register, the wife took the youngster to the car and brought it to the front of the store. Paid out, I hastily transferred the powdered sugar confectionaries into the trunk and headed out. It was here that I faced reality. They were gone. The Twinkies, the cupcakes, all that was left in the world was god-damned razzberry snowballs. Somewhere in Hollywood, Tallahasse is crying. As I struggled to see the road through the salty, burning tears I have an epiphany- drug stores. Nobody checks Walgreens for food, it’s just there as an aside to your prescriptions and photos. Once again into the fray, I pushed the pedal to the floor and the tires squealed, leaving two squiggly lines on the concrete. Kind of reminds me of vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting.

As I blow through the lights, I slide into the parking lot, the seatbelt comes off as I slam the shifter to park and tell the wife hop over, I will be back. I dash into the store, searching the aisles for the last box of golden deliciosness, but alas, Wal-Greens has not recieved any this week. The plants have been closed. BASTARDS!!!! Refusing to admit defeat, I plow through the ambling patrons carrying baskets with cough medicine and aspirin, jumping into the driver’s seat and heat towards the next destination- CVS.

If there is one thing I can say about being a Hostess Hunter is secrecy. You don’t just yell “WHERE ARE THE TWINKIES!!!!” as you enter a store, you have to be careful. You never know when another patron is actualy a rival Twinkiphile. I casually walk up to a worker and whisper “hey, ya’ll got any….twinkies?” He looks to his coworker and belts out “HEY, WE GOT ANY TWINKIES??” Damn it man, keep it down, don’t you know we are in the middle of Twinkageddon? Apparently all CVS carries is prescription drugs and cheetos.

One last stop. Glowing like a shining beacon in the dead of the night is Food Pyramid. While Pyramid might make you think of the food groups, I think it is more along the lines of ancient Eqyptians, housing tiny bars of gold and chalisses of cake (cup cakes, get it?). A frantic run through the aisles of this less-traveled market reveals my fears that I am too late. Then, as I am about to give in to the inevitable, I see it. I swear to you (not really) that at that moment, the roof became transparent, the sun shone through the beams and ceiling tiles, lighting the path towards an end cap, the most beautiful end cap I have ever seen. Not even Michelangelo  himself could render such an explosion of color. Green apple pies, orange cupcakes, chocolately brown cakes and there, amongst the others is a shelf full of the sweetest sponges in the land. You know why they are spongecake? To soak up the creamy nectar of the gods that fills them. I bought them all, for I had travelled too far (about 10 miles) to find this honey hole of honey holes only to leave some behind. I did leave the crunchy donettes, those are disgusting; though they do make excellent door stops.

Once we were in the parking lot, tears of joy sprang from the eyes of my children, old men gave me high-fives, and the women, the women all looked at me like I was insane, what with 40 boxes of twinkies and cupcakes and my kids crying to eat them and all. And then, at that moment, I raised my head to the sky and began to weep. I was crying. Neither in joy, nor pain. I was crying because I realized that I had just spent $136.97 on cupcakes that I can never eat.  Cupcakes and Twinkies are likely part of the reason I have diabetes in the first place.

But it doesn’t matter.

For I am the Hostess Hunter.


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