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Shelbyville, Indiana. Home of this man, who has eaten 22,000 Twinkie's in his life. Also home to Compton's Cow Palace. Best damn burgers and milkshakes in the Midwest.

We got lost there once, in Shelbyville, and I will never forget my child turning to me and asking, with much disdain, "Mom, what are we doing in the middle of this CORN FIELD?"

I think that perhaps the Twinkie man is trying to commit suicide in order to escape Shelbyville, but apparently eating thousands of chemical filled pastries is not as effective a method as one would hope.

*salutes Twinkie Man*

They're pure greasy plastic. They pass right through you. As long as they don't get stuck somewhere inside, they cause you no harm whatsoever.

Now I want one. Preferably frozen.

As I recall, Chico, it was you who were responsible for the last Twinkie I ate; prompted by your oh so 'innocent' question "Have you had your last Twinkie?" I sampled one in a parking lot in Oregon and thought I'd been poisoned. You rat-bastard, you.

Now that is cold-blooded, cruel and unusual Twinkie torture.

My sympathies, towerbrave!

I'm sorry, jon! I know you like to be the corruptor of young minds. Sorry to horn in on your territory, there. Hee.

(I do have two frozen ones left at home. Who's going to be the lucky miscreant?)

who, me? I'm utterly pure at heart. Corrupt away, kiddo.

Even when I was a big junk food fan and bought much of my food intake at mini-marts and gas stations I never understood the joy of a Twinkie. The last time I enjoyed a Twinkie was when I was 12 and I filled it with firecrackers, and even then it was disappointing compared to the Ding Dong.

Ding Dong, man, Ding Dong. Ding Dong, yo.

Frozen Twinkies? Urrrgh. I mean, I've never had one and all, but...urrrgh.

And ColdChef, didn't we warn you about that?

Slack -- I can think of no better use for a Twinkie. And with the amount of things we stuck firecrackers in as kids, I'm surprised we never thought of blowing one up.

We did blow up a 12" cake with something larger than an M-80 once. (Can't remember what it was, but it was loud enough that a neighbor called the bomb squad. Whoops.) But we weren't so much "kids" then as we were "really drunken adults."

Annihilated the cake. There was just nothing left except little tiny flakes of pink frosting on all the cars for about 1/4 block on any side of the intersection. Oh, and the cardboard disk the cake sat on. That was unharmed.

When I was a child, I would have cried if I'd seen a cake blown up.

Seriously. I loved cake.

We had cake today for a guy who retired after 46 years with our company. He cried, and so did I, but no cake was blown up.

Imagine, 46 years. He came to work for us because he was 18 years old, and he mostly spoke German, and since the boss spoke German, he could get along. Now he sounds like every other Kentuckian in the place, of course. But when the boss said, "Who would have thought we'd turn into old men together?," there wasn't a dry eye in the place.

And then he fired him for stealing.

ColdChef, how did you guess?! Corporate bastards.

Plus, he TOTALLY never put covers on his TPS reports.

Hold it! That's not the guy that never refilled paper tray number two on the copier - is it?!? Grrrrr....

dana, that's the most darling thing I've ever heard.

Yesterday, a colleague who is a brand-new father brought in the leftovers of the "bris cake", a tradition I've never heard of.

I was wondering if I should cut a very small slice.

It's kind of like a King Cake, but it's not a doll-baby that's hidden within.

You see what I'm saying here?

And the old lady is all like HELP! THERE IS A FORESKIN IN MY CAKE!

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