Bullshit in a bag. . .

You're walking along, minding your own business, having a perfectly charming day, when all of the sudden, without any warning, BAM, it happens.

Out of the blue, some alleged "friend"of yours bestows upon you a giant plastic baggie filled with some mysterious goo, passing along the dreaded curse, of the Amish Friendship Bread. The most dreaded of all baking chain letter, voo doo, recipe bullshit.

Now, of course, in my mind, maybe I'm alone here, but I instantly think less of this person, and try to choke down the words that bubble up in my throat to tell them exactly what they can do with it. I will do anything to get out of taking it. I will suddenly change the subject and "accidentally" leave it on their desk, or on the roof of my car, or make up some excuse about being homeless and not having access to an oven, whatever it takes. But these defense tactics can only take you so far in life, before you inevitably find yourself with this evil bag of guilt on your counter top.

And now, riddled with obligation and an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and guilt, you follow your hand written care instructions. And, like a needy child, you must feed it. You must play with it. You must burp it. For ten days it haunts your every waking moment.

Like me, you probably have a hard time suspending your disbelief that the Amish avail themselves of such products as jello instant vanilla pudding, but still you don't ask questions and simply add it to the final mix and toss it in the oven.

Later, when you slice into this cakey curse, over which you have slaved and waited on hand and foot for ten days, you think to yourself really? This is it?

I mean, it's alright. It doesn't taste like rat poison, or rotting meat, but has it genuinely been worth all of this time and energy? Certainly not. In fact, in the time it takes I could have whipped up untold numbers of other 'to die for' desserts, and be sitting now in the grips of sugar induced ecstasy. But no. I'm not.

Now I am supposed to pass it along. And I cannot think of four people whom I hate enough to continue this epicurean nightmare.

The chain ends here.

I implore you to join me in ending this madness.

If and when you are faced with this situation and find yourself staring down one such bag, calmly look into the eyes of your trusted friend and simply say "You're dumb." Turn around and walk away.

Later, be sure to delete this person from your palm pilot.