The Passion of the Foulness

FYI: This post will be in two parts: one of praise and one of loathing.

Part One - In Praise Of
I have in the past linked to my friend Jake's blog. In my link bar, I refer to him as the Sacagawea of Blogging for the obvious reason that he showed the way, blazed the trail, etc. And because he has a large collection of deerskin tunics.
Anyway, in Jake's most recent post, he writes eloquently and humorously about indie-rock fans, and since many of my blog readers (and its creator) fall into this category, I thought it might be of interest to some of you. The post is a long one, but it contains the phrase "Douchebag of the Week," so if you have a few minutes to spare, check it out.
The post also highlights that although I am older and wiser to the ways of the world than Jake, I always have been and always will be jealous of his prose-contructing prowess. I have always believed that he will be a famous writer someday, and I will be the first one to call in when he sits with Mr. Lamb on C-SPAN's Booktalk.


Part Two - In Loathing of
This rant may provoke more reaction than some of my political posts, but since it is Good Friday, I have to get it out.

I am truly disgusted by the mere thought of most Easter candy.

To wit:

• Once, when I was little, I bit into a hollow chocolate bunny, and the disgusting stench of bottled-up stomach fumes flowed from the newly masticated ear. I thought maybe someone in the factory had comsumed a large portion of beef stew and Rainier Beer and then belched into the bunny just before sealing it up.

• Cadbury Creme Eggs - Absolutley nothing about these concoctions is a good idea.

But the one that inspires the most passion in people -- that people wait all year to eat . . .

• Peeps. Peeps are, in my opinion, the foulest, most vile creation in the history of mankind. I don't like marshmallows anyway, but the mere idea of the crusty specks over the . . . I cannot even finish. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that sometimes at the store, I have to avoid even walking past the Easter candy aisle. When I even see a box of Peeps, I get the chills, and the hair on my neck stands up -- no lie. This can be classified as a phobia, I realize. I am Peepaphobic. As I am typing this and even thinking about Peeps, I have goosbumps, and my arm hair is at full attention.

I can't go on.