Point/Counterpoint: Peanut Butter Patties vs. Tagalongs
POINT: Peanut Butter Patties are the real motherfucking deal So there's this astoundingly delicious and delectable dessert that I freaking love. It is affectionately known as the "Peanut Butter Patty" among its admirers, and the scrumptious power of this cookie cannot be underestimated. Astute Americans from New York to California salivate worse than an adolescent female at the opening of Never Say Never 3D merely at the thought of wrapping one's lips around a Peanut Butter Patty and sinking into its ludicrously luscious interior. The interplay between chocolate, peanut butter, and cookie is titillating to say the least, and exquisitely heavenly at best. Needless to say, Peanut Butter Patties are pretty gosh-darn fucking amazing.
Yet there are still a few ignorant Americans who deny the orgasmically divine existence of Peanut Butter Patties. I'm speaking, of course, of my ignorant, dimwitted, and deliciousness-denying colleagues on the far-left who insist, against all reason or logic, that we should instead direct all of our yummy praise at "Tagalongs." Can you believe that shit!? These Tagalong dirtbags are robbing America of its culinary identity, reducing the simple elegance of the Peanut Butter Patty to a name better reserved for that kid you met once during Wildcat Welcome week, yet who still insists on texting you every weekend to find out about parties. Without the Peanut Butter Patty, what have we become as a nation? Lose this symbol of American piquant pleasure, and risk losing all that we've accomplished as a nation of trans-fats consumers? Nice try you Neo-Nazi Communist Anarchist Soccer-playing Tagalongites, but I love this glorious nation far too much to sit idly by while you destroy one of the greatest examples of our national pride.
by Evander Jones
I want you to envision something wonderful for me. Picture a cookie. This isn't just any cookie: it's a mound of creamy peanut butter encapsulated in a shell of smooth, tantalizing chocolate. Now picture yourself gently slipping this 12 gram stone of delight from the plastic package that has served as a gentle and loving home. You caress its smooth edges with your shaking fingertips and hold it in your hand as the light but arousing scent of chocolate and peanut butter wafts towards your welcoming nostrils. You place the cookie in your salivating mouth and take a bite. You swirl your excited tongue as bits of chocolate and peanut butter meld forming the perfect symphony of sweet and salty. The pleasure is so intense that you let out a soft moan. Finally, you swallow the last bite of this titillating treat and sit back in satisfaction.
Ladies and gentlemen, you have just eaten a Tagalong.
Now, there are some small-minded people out there who will tell you that the proper name for this moan-inducing dessert that we have come to love is "Peanut Butter Patty." I can assure, you that this is fascist propaganda. In 1921, the young Benito Mussolini brainwashed Troop 246 of the Girl Scouts of the USA into telling their fellow Americans that the cookies were known as "Peanut Butter Patties." (Fun fact: Mussolini played the violin.) Il Duce did this in an attempt to divide Americans to the extent that civil war would distract the nation from beating the shit out of him in World War II. So let us end the right wing madness that begot this nation's confusion over the name of a Girl Scout cookie. This debate has consumed America more than abortion and Arcade Fire's GRAMMY win combined. They are called Tagalongs. Now. Forever. Now, in the name of Juliette Gordon Lowe, can we all just get back to our lives?
by Blaise Bernard