On Deep-Fried Twinkies

Recently, at the New Mexico State Fair, I ordered, for science and to satisfy a years-long morbid curiosity, a deep-fried Twinkie. Upon doing so, the twenty-something working the booth — the booth that sold not just deep-fried Twinkies, but deep-fried Reese’s and deep-fried cheeseburgers, mind you — cocked an eyebrow at me and, with far more self-righteousness than someone working a carnival food booth should have been able to, said: “Really?”

This was not my Twinkie, but a very close approximation.

Both offended and amused, I then explained to her that I was simply doing it for a lark, having been moved by the spirit of the State Fair, and because, I don’t know, why not? She was twenty; she had to know all about doing stupid things that she would almost certainly regret mere moments later. I didn’t say that last part out loud, of course, but the rest seemed to satisfy her, she took my money, I got my Twinkie, and it tasted like a funnel cake, only not quite as good and with a stick in the middle that I accidentally bit into.

The end.

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