I was feeling particularly June Cleaveresque last night so I bought one of those ginormous tubes of cookie dough that is conveniently sold right next to the yogurt. Yogurt, as you probably know, is the food that people think is good for them, and the number one choice for dieting women to eat for breakfast. They shouldn’t because it’s chock full of sugar so it’s sorta fattening, but don’t tell them I said so, they more they eat of it, the skinnier I look standing next to them. I don’t eat yogurt at all because I took a lot of anthropology courses in my day so I find it hard to ingest anything with the words “live cultures” on the label. I mean, really. Wonder what happened to the Anasazi? They were probably ground up by the Dannon corporation with some raspberries and soylent green and served with granola.
Anyhoo – they keep the cookie dough right next to the yogurt because it has exactly the same target demographic. Hungry people. Who eat live stuff. However, I bought it because I thought it would be nice to bake my kids some cookies, without having to actually, you know, MAKE them. My kitchen would smell yummy without any actual effort. And, I could eat some of it raw, which is the whole reason God invented cookies anyway.
Later in the evening, as my two little scholars sat brightly at the kitchen counter doing their homework with eager smiles and great attitudes, not at all pissed off because schoolwork isn’t fay-er, and not at all wondering WHY they would ever need to KNOW this stupid stuff, and not mentioning a thing about the exciting things that were probably on Dirty Jobs RIGHT THAT MINUTE that they would NEVER get to see, I preheated the oven. I sliced open the dough package, and my knife slit right through the WARNING. On the cookie dough. There was a warning. It went something like this:
WARNING: Cookie dough contains raw ingredients and should not be consumed before baking.
They effectively told 89.2% of their customers “STOP using this product. You’ve been warned.”
I was going to take a picture of the warning so that you could all see for yourselves, but I pretty much baked 9 cookies and ate half a pound of raw dough and the label is sort of destroyed. However, I’m still here to talk about it, and I think that’s what really matters. No wonder June Cleaver used to make the cookies from scratch. Keeps Big Brother off your back, man.