This weekend at the Elvis Birthday Fight Club (or an event not to be named), Abraham Lincoln threw a twinkie at me from the rafters. Getting his revenge after being shot in a theater again, I suppose. The next day, after considerable smushing in my vintage black patent handbag, I found the twinkie. I ate the twinkie. The sensation was strong and immediate: “this is not something that should go in the bodies of humans,” said the voice inside me. If I was that kind of person, I would have gone and purged it from my system immediately. That not being the case, I counted it as a life lesson.
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