At Last, I Can Combine Drinking And Overeating In A Way That Doesn't Get Me Arrested

If you're like me, you prefer to enjoy the Cracked blog with a morning "Megamuffin," a muffin of your own creation studded with cookie dough, baked into a candy shell, and swimming in chocolate sauce. Then you like to make yourself throw up, look in the mirror, and weep bitterly while pinching rolls of fat on your arms and belly. Ah, now we're feeling awake and refreshed. Well pinch no more! Or at least less vigorously. A new study out of Israel suggests that saturated fat may not be so bad for you after all. Of course, this could just be another Jewish ploy to put some meat on that skinny tuchus of ours. And while I usually complain about science's constant revisions of what is healthy or not, this one I can stand behind. Anything that justifies my love affair with the Butterfinger can’t be wrong. As far as I can see, there's only one problem that could arise out of this development, namely a societal backslide into Roman-style decadence. In an age when most of the world perceives Americans as grotesque pigs, giving us license to enjoy our saturated fats could well result in something utterly unholy, like people just taking shots of cake frosting and thinking that that’s okay. What? That’s already happened? Someone’s probably sucking down a shot of vanilla cream as we speak? Dear God. It’s true. You know those annoying cutesy gourmet cupcake shops that have been enjoying a resurgence in the Pacific Northwest? The ones with “cakery” in the title and patronized by yuppie computer programmers who never got the hang of coffee? Apparently they’re on a mission to destroy us all. See, there’s nothing wrong with a man enjoying something like the Megamuffin in his own home, especially if that man is me. But publicly avowing that “yes, we sell tiny cups of frosting for people who want the taste of the cupcake, but without all that bread,” is the kind of thing terrorist recruiters use in their

Get To Know The Great White Satan pamphlets. We’ve got an image to maintain, people, and doing so has graver consequences than ever before. The frosting shot doesn’t just depress the Ugandans, it pisses off people bent on our destruction. People who were just kind of considering a career in suicide bombing, saw a photograph of a bunch of college co-eds taking frosting shots at their local cakery, and said “fuck it. Strap on the dynamite.” They use dynamite, right? I get most of my explosives knowledge from old Warner Bros. cartoons. For all our sakes, boycott the frosting shot. The good news is, with saturated fat in the clear, you’re free to go home and squeeze a tube directly into your mouth. Just draw the curtains first. And while we’re at it, there are a few other affronts to decency we should probably stop eating as well. But hey. I’m not here to lecture anyone. Tell you what, we’ll make it a game. I’ll provide a fictional but fitting origin story, and you try and guess what American eat-trocity I’ve got in mind. Ready?

1969 may have been the year of the moon landing, Woodstock, and the famed Beatles rooftop concert, but few know it was also the year of the first filmed double penetration. The tricky maneuver went off without a hitch on the basement set of Easy Rider 2: Ridin' Bareback, and upon its successful completion, a young fluffer and amateur baker named Sheryl Spangler remarked “my God, I’ve got it!” Then after spending the day blowing men in order to keep them erect for filming, she returned home to her kitchen and made cookie history.

The disgrace in question? The Double Stuff Oreo.

Summers on Coney Island bring tourists, and with them, fierce competition for their spending money. During the summer of 1973, that competition was being won by sausagier Franco Giancomo, a hot dog vendor whose new creation the corn dog was all the rage. Todd Chisholm, Franco’s leading rival, became despondent over his loss of customers and, late one evening, set about injecting poison into his hot dogs with a hypodermic needle. After his arrest and imprisonment following the deaths of a vacationing Idaho family, Franco unveiled yet another new dog, purportedly inspired by Todd’s lethal creation.

The disgrace in question? The cheese-injected hot dog.

In early 2000, famed chef Paul Prudhomme was having trouble getting his picky children to eat their dinners. Both in their teens, they had rebelled from their portly father by becoming Buddhist vegans and slimming down to a respectable 212lbs (measured collectively). Refusing to cater to his kids’ whims, Prudhomme was determined to find something so delicious, they would be forced to abandon their ideals and join him in corpulescence. By combining a favorite childhood meal with breadcrumbs and shamelessness, he did just that.

The disgrace in question? The fried macaroni-and-cheese ball.

One fateful night in 1980, an out of control ice cream truck plowed through the front window of La Posta De Acapulco taco shop in La Mesa, California. The crash killed three, but their screams were but the first cries of a new food being born. The disgrace in question? The Choco Taco.

One day a really fat guy decided he no longer cared about propriety or appearance and gave in to the final temptation, proving that Man is a doomed and wicked race.

The disgrace in question? The deep-fried Snickers bar. So please, feel free to eat all of these things at one sitting, just sit somewhere indoors, and when you’re done, try and squeeze out a few salty tears of shame. You know, for show.

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When not blogging for Cracked, Michael is perfecting his space-age out-of-this-world moon waffles as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!