I shall begin, without [reservation], by stating that I am a fan of the [Ho-Ho]. It is tasty, velvety smooth and conveniently pocket sized. Wrapped up tight for the [bachelor] on the go with an appetite.

Admittedly, the Ho-Ho may not be the most [nutritious] or waist pleasing snack, but like [narcotic|narcotics] they are difficult to kick. Once you [innuendo|probe your tongue betwixt the spongy chocolate folds, searching for the elusive but divinely creamy filling]... Uhm... If you don't know I can't exactly explain it. Suffice it to say I'm a fan of the Ho-Ho.

I normally keep a box in my [cupboard] to satisfy the odd craving that sometimes overcomes me. Nestled closely is a box of [Twinkies], just in case I have a golden brown groove instead of a chocolate hankering. I'm really a [junkie] for the junk food.

This evening I had the urge for a Ho-Ho, and proceeded as normal, to lovingly release it from the [cellophane] prison that [Hostess] had so cruelly protected it in. I savored its appearance, and like any true [connoisseur], I waited that one last instant before diving in, to really relish it. I think [That goofy kid from the Simpsons|Millhouse] said it best when he described it as letting the [Eskimo Pie] get "just a little melty." I chewed. It tasted odd. I looked at the remains in my hand. [I was horrified].

While Twinkies may have no apparent end to their bountiful [shelf life], Ho-Hos are a different story. I had been laying off the [snacks], assuming that they would last until my SO stopped complaining about my weight. Like they say, [Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups]. Ho-Hos are very [mortal].

The once heavenly creamy filling of my beloved snack product was run through with icky black [fungus]. Millions of invading spores had robbed my chocolate beauty of her [virginity] before I had the opportunity to fully explore her delights. It was moldy.

I spit it out and washed the now repugnantly sweet ickor from my mouth. I was appalled.

Now, two precious treasures remain in the box that is clearly marked with a December eighth [expiration date]. Are they bad as well? What a manically mundane exercise in [Schrodinger's Cat|Schrodinger] speculation. If I never open those remaining Ho-Hos, I shall never have to witness their defilement. On the other hand, I can't simply throw them out if they are still good.

Such [tribulations] men must go through these days. What shall I do? Of course there's still the box of Twinkies, and we know those never go bad. Right?

The Peril of Ho-Hos and Assumption