XXIX. Langs Love Lunchables (and alliteration)
My peanut butter was tainted with salmonella and I never even noticed. You know why? I have the stomach of a goat because I am a Lang. I don't think Langs are necessarily born that way, but we adapted to meet our tough surroundings.
My mother, God rest her still-living soul, stocked our pantry with the wildest assortment of non-nutrition I have ever seen. She allowed us to eat absolute crap while our bodies were struggling to grow. When times were good, we basically had a Little Debbie display in our pantry. So for breakfast we would have Swiss Cake Rolls. Then for lunch, we would eat Oatmeal Cream Pies. And nothing said dinner to us like Ding Dongs and Nutty Bars.
But when times were lean, we ate like catfish. Anything that had settled to the back of the pantry would be eaten. You had to improvise. Karo syrup on graham crackers. Cheez-Its and caramel sauce. Lucky Charms sprayed with Pam. Anything you could find to make a meal. And you always had to wash it down with flat Coke because we never put the cap back on the two-liter bottle. When you ran out of Coke, you were screwed. Even I almost gagged the time I witnessed my sister dipping Funyuns in Miracle Whip and washing it down with strawberry Quik.
Ultimately, all the Lang kids grew up and developed varied palates and proper dietary habits, but we left one Lang in the Stone age – my father. To this day, that man eats like a possum. Anything that drifts to the bottom of the fridge will be consumed. I have seen Mexican casserole, two weeks from inception, pass down his throat despite the mother of pearl glaze growing through it like a lab culture. We never had a garbage Dispos-ALL growing up. We had Dad. Used coffee grounds and banana peels are some people's idea of trash, but to my father they are chief ingredients to a smoothie.
My jar of tainted peanut butter was half eaten when they issued the recall, and despite the warnings, I knew exactly what to do with it.
"Hey, son. Just calling to thank you for the card and the peanut butter. I just made some great peanut butter and Honeycomb sandwiches."
My mother, God rest her still-living soul, stocked our pantry with the wildest assortment of non-nutrition I have ever seen. She allowed us to eat absolute crap while our bodies were struggling to grow. When times were good, we basically had a Little Debbie display in our pantry. So for breakfast we would have Swiss Cake Rolls. Then for lunch, we would eat Oatmeal Cream Pies. And nothing said dinner to us like Ding Dongs and Nutty Bars.
But when times were lean, we ate like catfish. Anything that had settled to the back of the pantry would be eaten. You had to improvise. Karo syrup on graham crackers. Cheez-Its and caramel sauce. Lucky Charms sprayed with Pam. Anything you could find to make a meal. And you always had to wash it down with flat Coke because we never put the cap back on the two-liter bottle. When you ran out of Coke, you were screwed. Even I almost gagged the time I witnessed my sister dipping Funyuns in Miracle Whip and washing it down with strawberry Quik.
Ultimately, all the Lang kids grew up and developed varied palates and proper dietary habits, but we left one Lang in the Stone age – my father. To this day, that man eats like a possum. Anything that drifts to the bottom of the fridge will be consumed. I have seen Mexican casserole, two weeks from inception, pass down his throat despite the mother of pearl glaze growing through it like a lab culture. We never had a garbage Dispos-ALL growing up. We had Dad. Used coffee grounds and banana peels are some people's idea of trash, but to my father they are chief ingredients to a smoothie.
My jar of tainted peanut butter was half eaten when they issued the recall, and despite the warnings, I knew exactly what to do with it.
"Hey, son. Just calling to thank you for the card and the peanut butter. I just made some great peanut butter and Honeycomb sandwiches."
posted by Clubber Lang at 9:41 AM
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