“ Toucan Sam, you leap on the back of the wind, load stone to assorted fruit flavors, Phoenix of the dawns, one smile. We gave you, Toucan Sam, life. You, Toucan Sam, give us loops of fruit. Fruity loops, Fruit Loopies, swimming in the churning, frothy mother sea of milk, Kellogg’s appreciates consumer comments, P. O. Box 221, Battle Creek, Michigan, a prism of fruity color, a cornocopia of over forty fruity tastes. The orange, the apple, the grape, the pomegrante, the quince, the kumkwat, the kiwi, the planitain, the guava…
—
Maya Angelou, for Fruit Loops (via joecarryon)
The wind. The rain. The fire.
The Butterfinger.
Did the Caveman know your delicious goodness?
Did the Mayan Priest exhalt in your buttery crunchiness?
Did the slothful Mastodon, upon his extinction, declare,
“Don’t lay a finger on my Butterfinger?”
Oh, you finger of butter!
You proud confection!
Sugar brown roasted peanuts,
fructose, glucose, sucrose, lactose,
partially hydrogenated palm kernel oil.
Crispity, crunchity, peanut buttery—
I… give… myself… to… you.
Butterfinger.
Glad mantle of golden chocolaty hope upon my breast.
