Delicious Happiness
There’s a snack, appropriately called “Happiness,” which I’m especially fond of. It comes in a little pink bag, decorated by cutesy, bubbly white letters, with the slogan, “All you’ll ever want to eat!” Indeed, if I could, I’d eat Happiness all day, every day.
Each “slice” of Happiness is about the size of a Dorito—large to a point where I can just fit one in my mouth. However, slices of Happiness aren’t chips—the big pink treats look more like Peeps, and have a marshmallowy consistency. They’re fruity and sugary, but not so sweet that I feel ashamed of eating them.
For some ungodly reason, eating an excess of Happiness has been USDA banned. A law was passed stating that for every two slices of Happiness one consumes, one must also consume seven bites of Despair.
Despair, too, has a strangely appropriate name. It comes in a navy blue bag, which is covered in barely-readable purple text, all in Papyrus font. The bag is supposed to be resealable, but I always end up ripping the ziplock trying to get it open.
Bites of Despair are roughly the size of M&Ms. They’re made of tough, tasteless pork jerky which is almost impossible to chew. I always get some stuck in my teeth, or try and swallow a bite too early and end up choking on it.
Were it up to me, I’d never even touch Despair, but the alternative means passing up Happiness, and that isn’t worth it. Most people try to strike a balance by living on a steady diet of Mediocres, only trying Happiness (and, subsequently, Despair), every once in a while. It seems to work for those people, but I can’t bring myself to live that way. I’m addicted to Happiness, and I eat it all day long, regardless of how much Despair comes with it.
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