The Pitfalls of Judging a Book by Its Cover

Today's post involves potty humor, so if you're easily offended you might want to look elsewhere today

As you know, I am a slave to visuals. I'm one of those people who judges a book by its cover, in whatever guise it may take: books, movie rentals, food packaging, product packaging, etc. If it looks good, I'm sold (within reason).

So, I normally buy the Pop Secret: Homestyle brand of microwave popcorn. I'm not a big fan of the industrial-strength-yellow-colored butterrific style of popcorn. I want some buttery/salty flavor, but if it's lemon-yellow I'm out.

A few weeks ago (probably more like a month ago), I went to the movies (I already forgot what I went to see...yeah, it was that good) and bought a drink and a small popcorn.

NOTE: For someone who loves movies as much as I do, ironically I'm not one of those people who feels like the movie "experience" isn't complete without popcorn. I like it and all, and probably eat more at home than I've ever eaten at the movie theater, but I'm more of a drink person. Maybe even a hot dog (if they're even ready, which they usually aren't when you go to see the first showing). I have multiple reasons for not being an avid popcorn-at-the-movies fan: [1] The popcorn is usually too salty/stale, [2] It's messy and I always emerge from the theater feeling like I rubbed a porkchop on my face, [3] I always end up CACK!ing like a cat horking up a hairball, because a kernal husk has gotten lodged behind the back of my tongue and [4] Recently, the rich, buttery goodness they pump over the corn makes my sphincter do the Electric Slide (pun intended).

Halfway through the movie I begin to have intestinal woes. I shift in my seat, do The Clench and pray that the movie is only an hour and a half instead of the usual 2 hours. Once the credits roll, I do the Boot Scootin' Boogie through the lobby and parking lot until I get to my car. Once home, not unlike The Night Before Christmas, away to the bathroom I 'flew like a flash.' I learned two things that day: [1] Never say 'yes' to pumped buttery goodness at the movies and [2] there's something lost in the translation of Cottonelle's Triple Roll (mainly thickness). Never again.

SO, I was at the grocery store a few weeks ago (the newly remodeled Tom Thumb...I'm not impressed...it's too dark now and they play that "old school" weirdo muzak over the speaker system. It's like shopping in Stepford), and was strolling down the popcorn aisle, when a box of Safeway brand microwave popcorn caught my eye. I was instantly transported back to what I'd think the 70's drive-in intermission ads must have looked like. There was the retro-striped popcorn cup, brimming with delicious-looking popcorn, an old tyme salt shaker like the girls/guys who worked at the concession stand might have used to shake over the popcorn and a bright pink soda that could have easily been served from one of those cool old 'bubble'-style soft drink dispensers like they used to have at the theaters back then. You know, the kind where the soda fountain had a large clear bubble that was literally bubbling beneath the surface with colored soda. SIGH. I was sold. I had to buy some. I wanted the box art and thought 'you can't mess up popcorn, right?'

Fast forward to last Saturday night. I decided to settle in with a horror movie and thought 'hey, let's try some of that popcorn I bought.' I made some, it popped great, looked and smelled great. I tasted it, it was delicious! It had that "old school" real corn flavor that so many of the microwave popcorns seem to be lacking these days. I poured out a small bowl of it, leaving over half a bag sitting on the counter (I'm struggling to maintain some sense of self control when it comes to portions lately). I go sit on the couch and start watching my movie. After about 35 minutes, the movie begins to lag, so I decide to go get a refill on the popcorn and check my e-mail.

I'm checking my e-mail when I feel gassy...but what happens is no run-of-the-mill fart. It's something much more sinister; the fart with somethin' extra. Before you know it, like a thief in the night, the Gravy Train had struck (sans bowl), and like some demented stork, dropped off its own little bundle...but it wasn't joy! I grimaced, thinking to myself 'oh dear god, no!' I grabbed a fistful of Kleenex from the box nearby, cupped my ass and kept low to the ground as I attempted to stay in a somewhat seated, yet mobile position, while I smuggled a sloppy joe in my shorts. Once in the bathroom, I did my part to deplete the ozone layer and rued the day that I ever bought Safeway brand microwave popcorn.

This has been a public service announcement from Kirkkitsch.