The great Twizzler crisis of 2011

Being deployed deprives you of certain things you took for granted.  Kind of like how in the dystopian future in 'the Book of Eli', chapstick is worth its weight in gold.  A simple object or substance, which, in and of itself, isn't worth very much, experiences extreme value inflation if it's nowhere to be found.  For me, that item was Twizzlers.

Ambrosia of the gods

I try to keep my family and friends abreast of my experiences here in Afghanistan via weekly emails.  Many of them have urged me to let them know if there was anything I ever needed or wanted, and they'd get me a care package out here lickety split.  And up until last week, I hadn't really asked for anything specific.  Just snacks, magazines, stuff like that.

But seven weeks into my deployment, all was not well.  I'd become listless of late.  Life just didn't have that spark anymore.  Then one day I saw a coworker of mine eating some Twizzlers at his desk.  At that moment, I realized my lack of lust for life (say that 5x fast) was due to a diet low in Twizzlers.  I hadn't had any in so long, it was affecting me.  I needed some now.  And I'll tell you why.

What happens is the One True God grows them on bushes in the Twizzle fields using an incantation that would kill us mere mortals if it were to hit our puny eardrums.  He then proceeds to wrap them in plastic and magic them down to your local superstore where whatever redneck cashier your Walmart has rescued from welfare that week proceeds to ring them up and pass them along to you, the fortunate consumer.  You proceed to ingest this finery in the vain hope that your obviously overmatched taste buds can somehow grasp the delectable intricacies they are suddenly faced with.  Is that Cherry Flavor number 5?  Why yes, yes it is.  As your tongue tries to process that amazing bit of information, your mind struggles to wrap itself around the wonder that is happening in your mouth.  And just as you think that all good things must come to an end, the last remaining Twizzler in the package surprises you with a conjoined friend.  You down them both, and all is well with the world.

So when I sent out my weekly update email, I asked the roughly 200 people in the 'To' field to send me some Twizzlers.  I hinted at my desperation and possible malnutrition.  I hit Send, hoping to be inundated with the delectable red ropes.  I'd been to the shop on base on previous occasions, and while they had a candy section, never had I seen any Twizzlers.  The day after I sent the email, I visited the store, and what did I happen to come across but an entire section of the stuff.

The rays emanating from the package is a graphical representation of the music produced by an angelic choir

Needless to say, I bought the store's entire supply, and then rushed back to the barracks to send out a retracting email.  Here is that email:

"Everyone!  I've just received an urgent update regarding the Twizzler crisis of 2011.

If you recall my last email, I asked you to send me Twizzlers, lots and lots of Twizzlers.  I was hoping for roughly a metric buttload, in every color of the spectrum and flavor of the rainbow.  Well, if you haven't already sent any, have no fear!  It has been revealed to me that the shop does in fact carry them and there is no need for you to waste your hard-earned money on shipping them out to me.  I don't know why they decided to hide their Twizzler supply from me by placing them in a corner of the candy rack where I would be unable to see them very easily. Maybe some wise soul with tons of foresight went ahead and did as I did, buying the store's entire supply.  I now have enough to keep myself and the family of elves that live under my bed sated with red sugary goodness for the rest of our days.

If you have already gone out and overnighted 5 lbs of the stuff to me, have no fear, as one can never have too many Twizzlers.  The elves thank you.  In fact, their king has decreed that the unit of currency used in all forms of trade, both domestic and between their kingdom and the kingdoms under far distant beds in the room be in the form of Twizzlers."


After sending the email, I proceeded to dig into the booty.  I was sick the next morning, but it was worth it.  I cherished every delicious piece of red sugary goodness.

I shudder to think how many thousands of collective dollars would have been needlessly spent on the greedy postal service if I hadn't sent the email.  $20 in postage for a 4 lb box that wont arrive for 2 weeks?  No thank you.