Comedy Rain

By Barbara Florio Graham
From McCall’s, June, 1983

I read every diet I can get my hands on. I even follow their suggestions. But eventually, inevitably, I always get fat again. Now, at last, I’ve found The Answer. After living for almost 14 years with a man who never gains an ounce no matter what I serve him, I’ve found out what it is that keeps him thin: He thinks differently. The real difference between fat and thin people is that thin people:

avoid eating popcorn in the movies because it gets their hands greasy;

split a large combination pizza with three friends;

think Oreo cookies are for kids;

nibble cashews one at a time;

think that doughnuts are indigestible;

read books they have to hold with both hands;

become so absorbed in a weekend project they forget to have lunch;

fill the candy dish on their desks with paper clips;

counteract the midafternoon slump with a nap instead of a cinnamon Danish;

exchange the deep-fryer they received for Christmas for a clock-radio;

lose their appetites when they’re depressed;

think chocolate Easter bunnies are for kids;

save leftovers that are too skimpy to use for another meal in order to make interesting soups;

throw out stale potato chips;

will eat only Swiss or Dutch chocolate, which cannot be found except in a special store;

think it’s too much trouble to stop at a special store just to buy chocolate;

don’t celebrate with a hot-fudge sundae every time they lose a pound;

warm up after skiing with black coffee instead of hot chocolate and whipped cream;

try all the salads at the buffet, leaving room for only one dessert;

find iced tea more refreshing than an ice-cream soda;

get into such interesting conversations at cocktail parties that they never quite work their way over to the hors-d’oeuvre table;

have no compulsion to keep the candy dish symmetrical by reducing the jelly beans to an equal number of each color;

think that topping brownies with ice cream makes too rich a dessert;

bring four cookies into the TV room instead of a box;

think banana splits are for kids.

You’ll need the following: a cup of water, a cup of sugar, four large eggs, two cups of dried fruit, a teaspoon of baking soda, a teaspoon of salt, a cup of brown sugar, lemon juice, nuts, and a bottle of whisky.

Sample the whisky to check for quality.

Take a large bowl. Check the whisky again. To be sure it is the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again.

Make sure the whisky is still okay. Cry another tup. Turn off the mixer. Break two leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the whisky to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares? Check the whisky. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or something. Whatever you can find.

Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don’t forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window, check the whisky again and go to bed.

Patron: Waiter!

Waiter: Hi, my name is Bill, and I’ll be your Support Waiter. What seems to be the problem?

Patron: There’s a fly in my soup!

Waiter: Try again, maybe the fly won’t be there this time.

Patron: No, it’s still there.

Waiter: Maybe it’s the way you’re using the soup; try eating it with a fork instead.

Patron: Even when I use the fork, the fly is still there.

Waiter: Maybe the soup is incompatible with the bowl; what kind of bowl are you using?

Patron: A SOUP bowl!

Waiter: Hmmm, that should work. Maybe it’s a configuration problem; how was the bowl set up?

Patron: You brought it to me on a saucer; what has that to do with the fly in my soup?!

Waiter: Can you remember everything you did before you noticed the fly in your soup?

Patron: I sat down and ordered the Soup of the Day!

Waiter: Have you considered upgrading to the latest Soup of the Day?

Patron: You have more than one Soup of the Day each day?

Waiter: Yes, the Soup of the Day is changed every hour.

Patron: Well, what is the Soup of the Day now?

Waiter: The current Soup of the Day is tomato.

Patron: Fine. Bring me the tomato soup, and the check. I’m running late now.

[Waiter leaves and returns with another bowl of soup and the check]

Waiter: Here you are, Sir. The soup and your check.

Patron: This is potato soup.

Waiter: Yes, the tomato soup wasn’t ready yet.

Patron: Well, I’m so hungry now, I’ll eat anything.

[The waiter leaves.]

Patron: Waiter! There’s a gnat in my soup!

The check:
Soup of the Day . . . . . . . . . . $5.00
Upgrade to newer Soup of the Day. . $2.50
Access to support . . . . . . . . . $1.00

In an effort to clarify questions about the purported durability and unusual physical characteristics of Twinkies, we subjected the Hostess snack logs to the following experiments:

Exposure

A Twinkie was left on a window ledge for 4 days, during which time an inch and a half of rain fell. Many flies were observed crawling across the Twinkie’s surface, but contrary to hypothesis, birds, even pigeons, avoided this potential source of substance. Despite the rain and prolonged exposure to the sun, the Twinkie retained its original color and form. When removed, the Twinkie was found to be substantially dehydrated. Cracked open, it was observed to have taken on the consistency of industrial foam insulation; the filling however, retained its advertised “creaminess”

Radiation

A Twinkie was placed in a conventional microwave oven, which was set for precisely 4 minutes – the approximate cooking time of bacon. After 20 seconds, the oven began to emit the Twinkie’s rich, characteristic aroma of artificial butter. After one minute, this aroma began to resemble the acrid smell of burning rubber. The experiment was aborted after 2 minutes 10 seconds when thick, foul smoke began billowing from the top of the oven. A second Twinkie was subjected to the same experiment; this Twinkie leaked molten white filling. When cooled, this now epoxylike filling bonded the Twinkie to its plate, defying gravity: it was removed only upon application of a butter knife. Extreme Force

A Twinkie was dropped from a ninth-floor window, a fall of approximately 120 feet. It landed right side up, then bounced onto its back. The expected “splatter” effect was not observed. Indeed, the only discernible damage to the Twinkie was a narrow fissure on its underside; otherwise, the Twinkie remained structurally intact.

Extreme Cold

A Twinkie was placed in a conventional freezer for 24 hours. Upon removal, the Twinkie was not found to be frozen solid, but its physical properties had noticeably “slowed”. The filling was found to be the approximate consistency of acrylic paint, while exhibiting the mercurylike property of not adhering to practically any surface. It was noticed the Twinkie had generously absorbed the freezer odors.

Extreme Heat

A Twinkie was exposed to a gas flame for 2 minutes. While the Twinkie smoked and blackened and the filling in one of its “cream holes” boiled, the Twinkie did not catch fire. It did, however produce the same “burning rubber” aroma noticed in the irradiation experiment.

Immersion

A Twinkie was dropped into a large bucket filled with water, the Twinkie floated momentarily, then began to list and sink. Viscous yellow tendrils ran off its lower half, possibly consisting of a water-soluble artificial coloring. After 2 hours, the Twinkie bloated substantially. Its coloring was now a very pale tan – in contrast to the yellow, urine-like water that surrounded it. The Twinkie bobbed when touched, and had a gelatinous texture. After 72 hours, the Twinkie had increased roughly 200 percent of its original size. The water had turned opaque, and a small, fan-shaped spray of filling had leaked from one of the “cream holes”. Unfortunately, efforts to remove the Twinkie for further analysis were abandoned when, under light pressure the Twinkie disintegrated into an amorphous cloud of debris. A distinctly sour odor was noted.

Summary of Results

The Twinkie’s survival of a 120-foot drop, along with some of the unusual phenomena associated with the “creamy filling” and artificial coloring, should give pause to those observers who would unequivocally categorize the Twinkie as “food”. Further clinical inquiry is required before any definite conclusions can be drawn.

A man visits his aunt in the nursing home. It turns out that she is taking a nap, so he just sits down in a chair in her room, flips through a few magazines, and munches on some peanuts sitting in a bowl on the table.

Eventually, the aunt wakes up, and her nephew realizes he’s absentmindedly finished the entire bowl. “I’m so sorry, auntie, I’ve eaten all of your peanuts!”

“That’s okay, dearie,” the aunt replied. “After I’ve sucked the chocolate off, I don’t care for them anyway.”