Fear Of An Apple Pie Planet

Now, in the vending machine at work, is an apple pie; it comes in a box, it’s made by the midget wood nymphs at Li’l Debbie. Li’l Debbie, by the way, needs her teeth kicked in by an inner city bar bouncer. Whore.

I cannot explain exactly why, but this apple pie scares the living hell out of me.

I know that there is a whole metal and plexiglass box full of shit that is not good for you there – even if the Baked Lays have that little green leaf, heart healthy icon next to the jacked up price tag – but the apple pie just seems like bad news; serious bad news.

Yes, I know, the preservative count in the Chex Mix has gotta be crazy, but to be able to keep an apple pie, in a box, in a non-refrigerated vending machine… It seems beyond my ability to just ignore.

At first it’s the sheer amount of unholy chemicals that must be pumped into an item that should essentially be apples, flour, shortening and sugar. But then a darker, more paranoid fear starts knocking on that door.

I begin to imagine this apple pie, in its green and white box, obtaining sentient abilities and overtaking the other snack items – even the gum and the breath mints at the bottom of the machine. The Corn Nuts wouldn’t stand a chance. And the Oreos? Fucking forget it.

That pie in there is the only thing that comes close to having organic materials, materials that can grow and mutate. And when it’s finally taken over the Frito Lay/Nabisco universe inside there, will that glass be strong enough to hold it in?

Will it?