Baby Biscuits & Childhood

June 16, 2008
It’s nothing more than a composition of consumable food. At a mere 4.2857...calories per cookie, these infant biscuits are rather just the added addition of food that will cover my body in the despised form of cellulite in a few hours time.

But how unlikely that they would represent yet another matter much like the ever growing sight of metaphorical objects in our society; why couldn’t a cookie just be a cookie?

Glancing at the last piece of 4.2857...calories, my mind as always forges into its thoughts of tedious insignificant meanings. This time, my genial brain declares the biscuit to be a sign of childhood. The cookie meant innocence and gullibility. It was equivalent to those free times of vigorous play and adventures to imaginative worlds. Yes, an Arrow baby cookie meant all this.

To Einstein’s dismay, the existence of this last cookie was demolished faster than the speed of light yet I don’t see myself in another realm as theorized by the old brainer himself; rather unintelligent I’d say.

The vacancy is only accompanied with a few crumbs of diminutive sizes. The sight now reminds me of a similar feeling of loss-the end of childhood. It seemed as it happened overnight, when dolls and hop-scotch were replaced with school books and the latest hip music. The bald baby dolls were sent to their demise and new books, of contrary to the bright ones of Clifford, the Big Red Dog, were now in sight. These ones were filled with elaborated words and ideas. The world didn’t come from our many obscene yet entertaining tales; instead the Big Bang reaped it all. The stars in the sky weren’t places of fairies, castles and princesses; they were mere bodies of powerful gas. The rain wasn’t the work of the sky crying but a part of the classic precipitation cycle. Arthur and D.W. could no longer be watched as we wasted our time away in blocks of rectangles and squares learning “vital” information. The North Pole a hoax, Santa a joke, the Tooth-Fairy a lie, and Twinkie Winkie with his purse meant he was gay. Simplicity died one day when I jumped over into adolescence. The sight of a vacant cookie reaped all this. What comes to mind while I gaze at the cookie’s recent location of existence is how I felt when I realized pigs never could fly; childhood was a cynical joke of failed hopes and promises.

I find myself to be quite mocking of the world and the people that populate it and now I realize-great another epiphany-that it’s entirely justified. I’d like to thank the cookie for prompting this epiphany. All hail the mighty cookie!

My Nameless Friend Qui Adore SmallVille et SuperNatural once said I was quite cynical. I remember the feeling I had when she spoke those words. I wasn’t hurt. No, I actually was amused by this.

My sceptical essence is to blame for the failure and disastrous phase of life of childhood. I blame the individual who created such a concept and those who perpetrate its elements. To the parents who tease on the tales of the jolly fat man and the cheap midget flying lady, I condemn you all! The generation of tomorrow will be quite pessimistic and bitter but we have only you to blame. Then again-wait another epiphany-the adults of today are the future models of my generation. That justifies the inability of peace and constant wars. Eureka; it all now makes utter sense. However, the only flaw here is that this means it’s a cycle. One of which I and those like me are capable of breeding further cynical versions of ourselves. How horrid of a thought; something must be done to terminate the process. Something grand, something of great implications-something like eating another cookie; another Arrow baby cookie awaits in the kitchen.

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