If you are familiar with the story of the Odyssey, you might recall that Odysseus plied the waters of the Mediterranean for several years after the end of the Trojan war, sharing in madcap adventures with his crew, getting up to all sorts of antics on the shore, fighting monsters, and sticking his dick in just about anything that he could stick his dick in. I'm looking at you, Calypso.
As one familiar with the Odyssey, you probably remember the Sirens. The Sirens were a group of comely young women with beautiful voices who sang across the waters surrounding their island home, promising riches and carnal delights to anyone bold enough and capable enough of plying their waters. However, when the lusty sailor reached the island of the Sirens, hoping to partake of their sensual delights, the Sirens ripped him apart and ate him, swallowing down his flesh and bone--and not swallowing in the good way, and not the naughty, fun kind of bone, either.
The Sirens' Song has thus come to be connected with anything that carries with it an allure of the forbidden: we know that it's not a good idea to go visit the Sirens' island, but, damn, look at the ass on that singing demon, would you? It might be worth having my flesh rent from my bones and my blood staining the waters near the isle if only I could feel the firm curve of her breasts upon my palms...
Along those same lines, we know it's wrong to eat an entire box of Girl Scout cookies, and yet...
Okay, fine. I caved and went full motherfucking cookie monster on those things. It's easy; there's like five in a package anymore. Each packing 7000 calories of sweet, chocolaty (or peanut buttery...or even better, chocolaty peanut buttery!!!) deliciousness, they go down a little too easily. Sure, I broke my self-imposed cookie ban, but it was worth it.
So. Fucking. Worth it.
Though the self-imposed cookie embargo has been broken, I'm still ice cream free, which I consider to be a victory of sorts. The Girl Scout cookies were just a small blip on the old radar, something that happens once a year. I can get past this, no problem, and be back on my cookie tee-totaling ways soon enough.
Of course, the sooner I get the last of these things out of the my house, the better. The most efficient way I know of ridding myself of the Girl Scout cookie menace is to shove entire sleeves of thin mints down my gullet. Chewing? That shit's for sissies. Savoring the Samoa that I just threw into the back of my throat means there's less time for me to start eating the NEXT Samoa in the package. Or Caramel Delight. Or whatever the fuck happy sappy slappy name they've hung on the cookies this year.
Eventually, I'll pick the cookie embargo back up, but it won't be until I am without Girl Scout cookies. Fortunately, the sales are done. Now we just have finish off the stockpiled wafers of deliciousness and I can get back to life without these sweet, little treats.
Just, let me have one more before we go...