Everyone Has An Amazon Best Seller But Me

When you immerse yourself into this WordPress cult, er..culture, suddenly every one you know has an Amazon Best Seller book to their credit.

I don’t have an Amazon Best Seller book to my credit.

I would like one…however that would require writing a book. I have put together some semblance of a book, but it currently sits in pieces between the apps/programs of Evernote, Microsoft Word, and Jotterpad X…like some century old Romans rushed in, tied it together and quartered it with their horses before galloping off to get Eggnog shakes from McDonalds. Jokes on you, century old Romans, the Shamrock shake should be available soon, and it’s a much, much, better choice in the shake-mosphere.

I do however have one published story, and one rejection letter:

Well you know what? Heads Will Roll is a damn fine story. Maybe you don’t like zombies Mr. Jonathan Starke, but don’t tell me about my time, effort, passion, and energy that I put into that story when you don’t know! Especially since I put no time or effort into it, AND I probably ate three packages of Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tarts while writing it, dribbling Pop Tart crumbs onto the keyboard in the process. I probably also drank/drunk several Coke Zeros too. Most likely I put more effort, passion, and energy into burping Brown Sugar Cinnamon slash Coke Zero fumes at the dog, who would in protest open it’s mouth and snap it shut over the invisible pungent odor surrounding it’s small stupid cranium.

And explain to me what  ‘festive pursuits’ means? This sounds like it  might put me in a Dr. Seuss inspired world.

Christopher McManus McBean De Voss

Often found himself at a loss

Which would make he proclaim,

“Gadzooks!”

Then decorate the town,

In his festive pursuits

Palooka is a dumb name for a magazine anyway.

While browsing my WordPress reader, I soon noticed just how many people that I associate with, either regularly or occasionally, have published books. (That sentence needs more commas. It’s like more cowbell, but for literary buffs. )

For example:

Carrie Ruben has a book that another friend of mine recommended that I read.  Imagine my friend’s surprise when I said, “Hey, guess what…I know Carrie!”  I looked really cool. Rodney Lacroix has two books and is in the process of writing six more…this week.

Marc Schuster has also written a couple of books either by himself or with other people, AND on top of that, he teaches other people how to write more better…I have not taken his course. It seems like my friends Maddie Cochere and Kayla Lords are always publishing something new.

I don’t read her, but apparently she is the quintessential name in blogging, The Bloggess has a book, and from the reviews it looks pretty funny…and might feature dead stuffed rodents. Don’t quote me on that, I’m just guessing from the cover. The Hook, who has written a book, recently featured this guy, Tom Lucas on his site. Guess what ol’ Tom did? Tom wrote a book.

(On a side note…Dear Mr. The Hook…For some reason my WordPress reader likes to unfollow you randomly…so if you were ever wondering why I follow and unfollow you a lot, it’s not me. Some one doesn’t want us to be together. WordPress Reader is being a dick.)

Ned Hickson is a real life journalist who happens to have a real life published book. Yay Ned!

Looking at my fellow Pausers; Jack is trying to get funding for his finished book on Kickstarter, and Justin Gawel revealed to me over lunch at Dick’s Last Resort that he is putting the finishing touches on his novella. Monk Monkey’s best friend, who shall remain nameless due to his request, also has several published books.

What is the point of this you ask? Why are you rambling about all that?

Just write a book already, you say?

I am, so get off my back.

I am announcing that I am currently in the process of putting the final touches on my brand new, multi-chapter….

Coloring Book!

Shut up! It still counts as a book.

Look for it on the Amazon Best Seller list soon.

It will probably be along the same lines as this one:

Which Would Win In A Fight…Writing Or Child Birth?

Writing for me is hard.

It’s really hard.

Writing to me, is like spending days, weeks, months, even years in labor. Pushing and prodding, sweating and cursing, groaning and straining and out pops the top of the head…but only the top of the head. You look at the head and think,

‘That’s a nice looking head, but what could be better about the head? I mean, I like the shape and the little wispy hairs, but..is that a dent on the side? What are those red blotches? Can I make those red blotches look better? I can’t. I don’t know what would make those red blotches look better! Dammit! Is there too much hair going on up here? Is there too little? I hate this baby! No I love this baby, I will never give up on it!’

So you push some more, and it hurts…oh boy does it hurt! But you produce a whole head! You look down between your legs and marvel at the head you have just produced. You see two bright blue sparkling shiny eyes and a nice button nose…wait…my baby’s nose is really a button! That’s not good. We can fix that in the next draft, no worries. OK, what else here? Oh yes, cute little mouth with some toothless gums…that works…and a right ear and only a right ear…

What the hell? Where is the other ear?! I just spent three weeks on this baby and it only has one ear! How can I fix this? I can’t! I just squeezed out this whole head and it’s missing an ear! There is no repairing this! I can’t just shove this head back into my cranial vagina…it’s already hanging out there! I even made the mistake of telling a few friends that I was thinking about birthing something! I remember telling the neighbor yesterday,

‘Yeah, I decided to birth a short story. I don’t know, maybe if it goes well I might turn it into a novella or possibly a novel. We will see. There a couple of publishing nurses I was thinking about shopping it around too, but you know it’s so hard nowadays with all the HMO Blogs and the Affordable Health Care Self-Publishing Services nowadays…the completion is fierce. Dr. Mom says I should go for it. She says I have always had the writing cervix for it, so I figure…what the hell? How hard could it be?’

So now I’m hunched over, cradling this one ear baby as I try find some inspiration. Do you know how hard it is to waddle around with a one ear baby dangling between your legs? Starbucks won’t serve you in this condition.

I tried.

“Um yes…I would like a Mocha Machismo Skinny Carmel Al Pacino Latte, Extra Froth, Double Lid, please.”

“Sorry, we only serve Hipsters, Accomplished Writers, and Moms here.”

“Really?! Since when?”

“Do you know you have a one eared baby hanging between your legs?”

“Yes! I guess I’ll go to Café McDonalds instead.”

“Good, and you might want to be careful! You’re banging that baby against your leg every time you take a step…on its good ear.”

Writing sucks.

It’s also hard to sleep with a one eared baby between your legs. It’s annoying. The thing is always crying,

‘Feed me! Finish me! Fix my ear! Change my sentence structure, its dirty! Where’s my Starbucks?’

I can’t get you Starbucks, its only for clever people, clever people that can sit down and bang out a 92,000 word novel in two hours and its sequel over tea with the Queen of England while inking the movie rights to Steven Lucas del Toro.

I can’t even fix your ear. I’ve tried. I tried hot glue, duct tape, cookie batter…

Then it comes down to the point of:

Do you just live with this baby head, ignoring it for the rest of your life?

Or

Do you take a Samurai sword to it, aborting it into the digital trash can, never to see the light of day again?

Or

Do you keep pushing, hoping the rest of it comes out alright? You know, two arms, two legs, a feasible plot line, a cute little belly button romance perhaps…or at least an “innie.”

(“Outies” are so in your face.)

Or

Do you just put a gigantic hat over it, covering it up, and call it, “taking a break.”

If you could see all the gigantic hats I have in my drafts folder, you would call me a whore.

More often than not I want take this one eared baby between my legs and punch it in the face and scream at it,

“I hate you one eared baby! Things were going to well! Why did you have to have only have one ear?! Do you think Steven King ever produces a one eared baby? No! How about Tom Clancy? I think not! What about J.R.R. Tokien? I’m pretty sure all the Hobbits had two ears and that extra ‘R’ in his name stood for Radical!”

Whoever invented writing hates puppies.

So why do it? Why write? Why bother?

I don’t know. These thoughts just get inside my head and I feel the need to put them on paper regardless if they are good, or bad, or rambling…or stupid. Does everyone else in the blogisphere actually really enjoy doing it? Am I the only one that hates it? I would rather sit on the couch and eat jalapeño Cheetos and watch really bad reality television than write…but I know my brain will turn to mush.

Well…mushier.

Mush potatoes.

McMush potatoes.

Now to be totally honest, there was no point to this except I’m stuck at a point in my story called, “Fatty McFat Fat Fat” and I needed to take a break. I decided to continue the birthing process, be it good or bad, or if it has one ear or three…so thank you for listening for a minute.

I feel better.

I’m going to waddle out of here now, please stop staring at the baby head between my legs.

The Story of the First Black Friday

Many, many years ago the Pilgrims sailed across the ocean surviving cramped conditions, disease, and weather.

After almost turning around twice since Google maps was lacking the proper updates, they finally reached the New World when Mrs. Jones made Captain Jones ask for directions from some sea Sirens.

But things were not any better once they landed upon the shore. They endured even more hardships: food was scarce, the winters were hard, the wifi signal sucked, and no HBO.

One day, as chance would happen, a native of the land was sent out by his wife to pick up a six pack of deer skin, when he happened upon the dying settlement. Seeing a need to help these people, and knowing his wife was going to be out all afternoon with her friends down at the river gossiping about the new shorten hem lines of the latest buffalo skin dresses of 1621, he decided to school these white devils.

The name of that Native American was Squantoski. He had learned to speak English from an illegal obtained copy of Rosetta Rock. Little know fact, it was later renamed Rosetta Stone as the program became more streamlined.

Squantoski made the mistake of introducing himself to the Pilgrim Vinny first. Vinny had the bad habit of giving everyone nicknames, and dubbed Squantoski as Squid Lips. Squid Lips did not take a liking to this nickname at all and threatened to scalp Vinny if he didn’t come up with something cooler, and thus was introduced to the rest of the village as Squanto.

Squanto taught the village how to fish, build better shelters, plant maize, and build hedge mazes.

The Pilgrims were so grateful that they invited Squanto and his posse over for a big feast of turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole with those crunchy fried onions on top, canned cranberries, and small pox.

The Pilgrims thought this to be a big success, and decided to hold this dinner every year there after. The Native Americans agreed, until they started dying off from the small pox. Those that survived plotted revenge.

They thought and schemed all year and came up with a four fold plan.

Step One: Introduce the game of football. This would distract the men folk from helping to prepare the Thanksgiving meal and making the woman angry and resentful.

Step Two: Come up with the concept of Black Friday where the village merchants would hold incredible sales deals the day after Thanksgiving. The woman would go crazy over the opportunity to save money and also be sleep deprived as they stayed up all night running from store to store, and deal to deal in order to get the biggest bang for their wampum*.

Step Three: Have a plan in place so by the year 2020 Black Friday would actually start at 9:00 am on Thanksgiving Day. This would cause division and fights in families as to whether or not to shop, watch football, or eat turkey.

Step Four: As the white man slowly destroys itself every Thanksgiving Day, the Native Americans retake their land with all the casino money they have acquired over the years.

Happy Black Friday everyone!

*wampum is the currency of the pilgrim.

The Do-Over Fund

There should be a time in everyone’s life that you get a do-over, especially if you have totally messed up your fiances…but not on purpose, mind you…

I really need a do-over.

I was thinking…

I don’t really understand the whole concept of the value of money anyway.

We print these little pieces of paper, all made from the same type of paper, and place different denominations on them. Some have a little 1 on them, some have a 5…some have a 100…we like those…those 100s. Now, it’s my understanding that you’re not allowed to add zeros to the ones that only have a 1 on them and turn them into 100s, although they are printed on the same type of paper. It would be nice if you could do that when you need too. Basically, when it boils down to it, if you were able to erase all the print on a 1 dollar bill and a 100 dollar bill then the paper is worth the same amount of money.

Nothing.

Well, maybe it would have the value of toilet paper.

I’m told that it’s not actually the value of the paper itself, but it’s what is backing that paper…which is gold and silver, maybe diamonds and other shiny stuff from the ground*.  What makes this shiny stuff from the ground so valuable?

I’m not quite sure.

After you brush the dirt off of it, it’s pretty. Is pretty enough to be a value? If it was, I would be able to spend Angela Jolie the next time I ran into her.

“Hey, how much for that hammock?”

“Why, that’s two Angela Jolies.”

“Damn, I only have half an Angela Jolie on me…”

“Really? Which half? Maybe we can make a deal.”

Now I know when the Pilgrims or Romans or Ancient Egyptians or Dinosaurs were first finding the shiny stuff in the ground, it was a lot harder to find. Thus making it more valuable. They didn’t have the luxury of using backhoes and that big crane looking truck that pounds the pole into the ground over and over…

What is that thing called anyway?

So…yeah…the gold and stuff was a lot more valuable. It was also harder for them to make charm bracelets out of the gold because they needed a big hairy sweaty guy to pound it out** on an ACME anvil with a big fire blasting forge behind him.

Which is why he was always sweaty. Maybe they should have invented the oscillating fan sooner then they did. I know they weren’t around because you never see an oscillating fan in movies that feature the medieval blacksmith.

Nowadays we can dig quickly and more freely.

Maybe we have found all the gold already…I don’t know. What I’m getting at is that these pieces of paper are just pieces of paper, and gold is just a shiny metal that we, the humans, have placed a big value on. What else I’m saying is, I’m broke and rambling.

Do you think aliens from another planet think gold is valuable?

So back to my original thought, I need a do-over fund. Just something like 200,000 of those little pieces of paper with the ones on them, nothing super crazy. I just want to get out of debit, buy a couple of cars for my kids, move to a smaller house, and maybe go on that cruise that my wife mumbles about in her sleep. Apparently it’s called the Allure and they have a Broadway production of Chicago on it. I would prefer if it had a Broadway production of Book of Mormon, but you know…whatever! It’s a cruise!

I don’t have to be so wealthy that I don’t have to work anymore, I just need a reset. Everyone should have one opportunity to reset.

Now what of those that don’t have to reset, like they are in a good place financially. Then they should be rewarded too, maybe with a couple of life bonus options:

Option One: You get to eat for free in any restaurant at least twice a week. Whatever you want. Just don’t forget to tip the waiter on whatever the bill would have been or you forfeit this reward.

Option Two: Ladies: Free Pedicures and Manicures for 10 years. Guys: Free season tickets of your favorite sports team for 10 years. (Go sports!)

Option Three: You get your own daytime TV talk show.

Option Four: Free oil changes for life.

Option Five: You get a street named after you, like a real long street, not just a cul-de-sac or an alleyway.

Option Six: A movie will be made of your life and it will be directed by Peter Jackson and have Leonardo DiCaprio in it, that way it will be extra long.

You get to pick two out of six options by the way.

 

 

*This has not been researched in any way. Please do not take any of this as fact.

**Snicker

My Simplistic Review Of How to Blog for Profit by Ruth Soukup

I subscribe to BookBub, and what BookBub does is send you emails when there are discounted ebooks on Amazon. You can set up the categories you’re interested in like Fiction, Non-Fiction, Historical, Poetry, Horror, Zombie Horror, De Voss, etc., and everyday you will receive an email with anywhere between 2 to 8 different ebooks ranging in price from free to usually no more than $5.

Monday’s email featured the ebook, How to Blog for Profit by Ruth Soukup. It normally costs $4.99 but was on sale for $.99. I usually just stick to the free zombie books, but due to recent life altering events, it seemed like it was a sign for me to buy.

I’m not expecting to make money off of this blog. I think the other blog I’m part of has a chance to make a couple of pennies. It has a lot of talented writers behind it. I’m not one of them, but I can ride coattails really well.

I mean I can really cling…like balled up saran wrap…

I’m just happy they include me because I kind of bring the intelligence quotient down over there, but every village has to have an idiot.

I bought the book for the marketing chapters, but decided to read it from cover to cover. It basically starts off from the aspect that you do not have a blog…

or you have a blog but don’t know what to do with it…

or you have a blog and you have about three readers…

two of them being your pet cats and the other your weird Uncle Stan…

or you saw my blog and thought;

“What? Do they give these blog things to any idiot who knows 23 of the 26 letters of the alphabet?”

Yes. Yes they do…and they are free…and you only need to know fifteen letters as long as ‘E’ is one of them.

My favorite advice from the book is, and I’m paraphrasing here; “If you want a great blog, have great content.”

Which is like saying; “If you want to win the sporting event you’re playing, score more than the other team.”

Or

“If you want to win the war, have your side die less.”

Or

“If you want to be a millionaire, get a million dollars.”

Side Note: I would like a million dollars.

What I read of the book isn’t bad, I’m not putting it down the ideas in it, but…

Hello!

Now, to be fair to the book, so far I have only read two chapters.

But the other thing that kind of hit me in the face like a dead sea bass wearing a hulu skirt was this paraphrased statement,

Side Note: I just looked up what paraphrased means, so I’m planning on using it a lot.

“You need a clear direction. Randomness will turn off your readership.”

Well…that chaps both of my blogs like the inside of a slightly overweight teenage girl’s sweaty thigh on the 4th of July while waiting for Junior Barnes from down the street, who promised to kiss her during the finale of the Farmer’s Day  Firework Spectacular, but has yet to show up…and it’s getting close to finale time…and now she is suspecting that he just said that…and that he had no intention of kissing her during the finale or at any time of her life…which is really sad because she has liked Junior Barnes since Kindergarten when he first fell over a block tower she was making and he started to cry of embarrassment…but she didn’t think it was embarrassing, she thought he was cute.

Side Note: I tend to be random.

Ruth Soukup writes a blog about being thrifty while maintaining a family and a room full of assistants to help her maintain her blog.

Side Note: I want a room full of assistants to help me with my blog.

I think this book is more geared to help craft or recipe or mommy bloggers. There are a lot of those type of blogs out there, and I guess they are easier to sponsor since they are so specific in their content.

I personally read blogs that make me laugh or are random like mine.

So are random blogs marketable?

Probably…not.

I’m sure the rest of the book is very helpful, I’ll let you know when I find time to finish reading it, or my randomness gets sponsored.

.

Those Insensitive Children’s Games We Played

Play time is different for kid’s nowadays. Gone are the times when your parents would kick you out of the house armed with only a ball and your bike, and you wouldn’t see each other until dinner.

Friday was meatloaf night, I was always late on Friday night.

Imagination and pick-up games ruled the neighborhood. Everyone would meet at the “spot.” And the “spot” was different per social class child gang.  Our “spot” was a cleared out field that was going to be developed into houses as soon as the plots of land were bought. In the background stood the forest which was only  a few hundred feet of uncleared woods, but at 10 years old, perfect for building a tree fort or going hiking without any fear of getting lost forever like Hansel and Gretel…the Brothers Grimm version, not the weird movie remake.

Two other important differences from the way children play today.

One:

There was a clear cut winner, whether it was an individual or team sport. Not everyone had an equal chance of winning. It did depend on your skill. If you swung and missed the ball three times with your bat, you sat down, you were out. You didn’t keep swinging until you eventually hit the ball. Often if you were the kid that sucked at baseball, you were the kid that was King of dangerous homemade bike ramp jumping.

Two:

For better or for worse the names of the games were not always politically correct. No one seemed to notice or care. Two prime examples from my childhood was: Smear the Queer and Black Man’s Tag.

If you are unfamiliar with the game Smear The Queer, the rules are simple. Throw the ball in the air and whoever catches has to run without being tackled. This could be played with any number of kids from 2 to 200. There is no designated place to run to, you just keep going until A) you’re tired or B) you’re tackled. If you get tackled then you throw the ball in the air and it starts all over again.

The great thing about this game: no thinking required. A helmet should have been required, it wasn’t, but definitely thinking went out the door. Your caveman instinct of survival kicked in and you just ran and ran until your friends piled on top of you like fat kids on the last Klondike bar.

For most, the offensive word in this game is Queer.  But I think the scarier word is actually; Smear. Think about how you would Smear something. Now think about violently Smearing something…or someone. Queer could be derogatory or empowering depending on how you say it. (Think Queer Eye For The Straight Guy) However, Smearing is Smearing, and there is no coming back from a proper Smearing whether your finger painting or recreating a Slasher movie.

In Black Man’s Tag the basic concept was that one person was “It”, and would tag the other players who were running back and forth between two safe zones. If you got tagged, you would join the “It” person and help them tag people until their was only one left, which was usually my friend Gilbert. He was damn fast. He was German. I don’t know if that is what made him so fast, but I think Germans played around with genetic enhancing during Word War II.

He may have been a by product of that.

We played this in the school’s parking lot with each end of it being the safe zones. You could not be tagged in the safe zone. If only big cities worked this way too.

A Simple graph for visualization.

I don’t know why it was called Black Man’s tag. Never really thought about the name until I became an adult. I had Black friends who played it. They never said anything about the name either.

“Hey, why does it have to be Black Man’s tag, why can’t it be Island Pacificer Tag? Or Spanish-American-Croatian Tag? Huh? Racist!”

The names of both of these games could admittedly have been chosen better. Maybe Black Man’s Tag could have been renamed Zombie Tag and Smear The Queer could have been renamed Rugby.

But as a kid it didn’t matter what the name of the game was, we just wanted to play.

Good job Gilbert, you genetically enhanced bastard. Good job.

Philosophy Fueled By Sangria

How To Be A Sangria Philosopher:

Step One: Drink a lot of Sangria.

Step Two: Drink even more

Step Three: Grab a pen and paper before you pass out.

—–

The world is divided into two groups: the Haters and the Hated. Now if the Hated also turn into Haters, then  the world would essentially be full of Hated? Or would it be full of Haters? Or would there no longer be two groups, the Hated and Haters, and just one collective hashtag-hater-hates.

It’s hard to say.

It’s hard to think.

If all we do is hate, then we as a society will hate to be hated, thus fueling more hate upon the hated-haters.

Hashtag: Rock-n-Roll! Hashtag: Rick Rolled!

HAHAHAHAHa……..what?

Essentially what the world needs now, is love sweet love…papa was a rolling stone…

What the world needs to do is just love, man. Love.

I love you.

Does anybody even understand the lyrics to Champagne Super Nova anyway?!

What?

Oh yeah…the world needs to stop hating. It doesn’t matter if your black or white or ebony or ivory…Sister Christian, oh the time has come, don’t cha know that you’re the only one to say, ok.

Ok.

Because you’re motorin’.

Yeah…you’re motorin’!

That’s so deep, man! Think about it!

So, to sum it up….stop hating, even though Ebony and Ivory is sung by two legends doesn’t make it a great song, and Oasis and puppies are over-rated.

Peace. Must. Sleep. Now.

A Lesson In Dutch Pronunciation

My Brother….

Posted this on Facebook…

With this caption….

Ha ha ha! Clever!

Then this happened:

This was just a play on words, right?

A joke you know…

Yes?

Hello?!

Oh really…uh huh…yes…yes…interesting…zzzzzzz…..

This still works, right? Is it still funny?

Huh, Dutch boy?

Oh…good call!

Breaking Bad, Breaking Balls

Joe is the morning jock on one of the coolest stations in the country, CD102.1 FM. (I think…it used to be 101.1, but something happened. It’s in my hometown in Columbus, Ohio which is why I’m confused, ’cause I currently live in Florida. Anyway, it was one of the first stations to branch outside the mainstream of standard cut and dry rock and roll, and play whatever music they wanted. Enough background.)

Joe is a good guy, and has met more famous people than me*, but he is missing the mark here:

That Tim guy doesn’t watch the show, you can tell by the ignorant comment. Number one rule of social media, never comment on a show you have never watched. You will look stupid every time.

This…

…blows up to this…Oh the irony because Game of Thrones doesn’t take over the internet while it’s on…except for maybe this year because it sucked.

Jeff, you are my favorite person I don’t know on this thread. (Joe, your still my favorite person I do know on this thread.)

I, of course, like someone who has a favorite sports team, have my Facebook timeline decked out for today:

It’s my team’s colors.

The show resumes tonight, so if you need to get catch up:

*Which has nothing to do with this post. Just makes me jealous**.

**I’m hoping to be published again at the end of the year. I’m waiting to hear back from The Zombie Survival Crew.***

***I was supposed to meet Michael Rooker from the first time I was published with ZSC, so hopefully I can remind**** them of that if I’m chosen again for their new publication….’cause I never got to meet him. Maybe I can meet ‘Maggie’ instead…

****Although if I push the issue, they may not accept my submission***** because they may think I’m being a dick.******

*****I have to play it cool because this new publication is outside my comfort zone. So maybe I won’t push the issue until after the book hits the stores.

******I am a dick.

The Incredible Edible Twinkie

Come check me out on Long Awkward Pause, and while you are there check out the other posts as well. Then go buy a box of twinkies. Then open one up. Then set it aside and get one of those greek yogurt things where you flip the almonds and chocolate into it. Those are delish. Then read all the posts on Long Awkward Pause again…maybe even try to challenge us to a topic. Then feed that open twinkie to the dog.

(Read these first two lines in a David Bowie voice, like at the start of the song: Modern Love)

I didn’t care that the Twinkie went away.

I didn’t care that the Twinkie came back.

—–

I’m not oppose to the Twinkie, although I think Peanut Butter Crunch Bars are much, much better.

In the movie Zombieland, Woody Harrelson’s character should have been on the prowl for Peanut Butter Crunch Bars instead of Twinkies.

If you need to pause and watch the movie so you know what I’m talking about, I’ll wait here. Go ahead.

You back?

What did you think? Pretty good, huh?

Ok, to continue….

I know the PBCBs melt easily and Twinkies do not, but let’s not discount the peanut buttery loggy goodness of this treat. I would rather eat a melted Peanut Butter Crunch Bar than a fresh Twinkie. Yes, I it’s true. I would rather…

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