Combodious

Once upon a time, I routinely engaged my friends in lengthy conversations about a certain snack food. They weren't so much conversations as they were hymnal duets in praise of the mighty Combo. We spoke of Combos when we had several varieties spread before us, and we spoke of Combos when there were none in sight. Simply, we composed odes to Combos because we loved them.

It was during one of these inspiring discussions that one of my dear Combo-loving friends queried: "Is there any type of Combo that you don't like?" Several of us, sitting around the kitchen table, started at one another and thought hard...but ultimately came up empty. Certainly, there were varieties of Combos that we preferred - I for example, hold the Pretzel- Cheddar flavor supreme above all others, and much prefer the Pretzel varieties over the Cracker (after much prodding I once revealed that I would never buy, with my own money, any Cracker variety if a Pretzel option was available) but I still like the Cracker varieties. Sometimes they are exactly what I need. But no - none of us could conceive of a situation where we would be disappointed by a Combo.

And so it went, everything in the Comboverse in happy harmony, with all of us loving the delicious combinations of crunchy carbohydrates and artificially flavored cheese sprays. And then one day, last fall, I came across a new flavor. Salsa Combos? With a tortilla crust? What was this blasphemy? I was thrown - but intrigued. I purchased them. And they were everything great that I knew a Combo to be...and then some. It was a new generation of Combo. Edgier, modern, showing multi-ethnic influence. It was the Combo of a new world.

After that new prototype was received - to wide acclaim, based on the taste test I conducted amongst 5 of my friends - all was quiet in the Combosphere for nearly a year and a half. Combos remained perfect, with an unblemished record of product enjoyment. I was sure the Combo could do no wrong by my taste buds. Certain of it. Until now.

Oh, Black Thursday, when I walked into the 7-11 on State Street and stumbled across not one but TWO new flavors of Combos! Both Cracker, such a bad sign. And the flavors? Cheeseburger...and Bacon, Egg and Cheese. Of course I was skeptical, of course, but what could I do? In the name of research, in the name of love, I bought them both. And sampled them. To disastrous effect.

Shame on you, Combo! Shame on you for creating not one nauseating new variety but TWO flavors so gut punishingly revolting that I throw up in my mouth a little bit every time I revisit the traumatic tasting of this afternoon. What the FUCK were you thinking, Combos?????? This is worse than when I found out about Santa Claus.

For shame, Combos. For shame.

Discretion Advised: Apocalyptical Delusions, Hating and Bad Language Ahead

Ever know someone who seemed perfectly nice, well mannered, polite, unobjectionable looking, totally unremarkable in almost every way; a person that all your friends and colleagues either liked or (maddeningly) adored - and who you could not fucking stand? Yes?

To add to your frustrations, this person - let's call them Jerry - is so evenly appreciated across all segments of the population,poor little you can't find a soul to commiserate with. Not a one. Conversations start with promise, then wither and die on the vine, like so:

You: "Hey, do you know Jerry?"

Other Party in Imaginary Conversation: "Who?"

You: "You know...Jerry?"

Other Party in Imaginary Conversation: "Oh. Yes."

You (sensing a possible twinge of disgust - an opportunity?): "I...don't really like Jerry as much as everyone else does."

Other Party in Imaginary Conversation: "Really? Neither do I. I - "

You (excited, ecstatic, it's Christmas in July): "REALLY???? Yay! I fucking hate Jerry! I hate his smarmy face, I hate his entitled demeanor, I hate his shallow soul, I hate his creepy sense of entitlement resting on the knowledge that he will be critically and commercially lauded because Cameron Crowe wrote every word that comes out of his date-rapey mouth and directed every drippy, saccharine moment in which he speaks. I hate his complete and total lack of actual spiritual and moral development. I hate that no one else notices that he is the same GAPING ASSHOLE from the first second we meet him until the moment we walk away. I hate that I am the only person walking away in disgust. I hate that Jerry, that caustic prick, takes a series of connected moments of self-entitlement and overblown egotistical grandstanding and spins them into actual character development. I hate that racist, sexist dickhole, and I hate the world that he lives in and the air that he breathes, and he makes me believe in the concept of Hell and that Satan walks among us in human guise."

Other Party in Imaginary Conversation: "I was going to say I adore Jerry."

You (deflated, foiled again, ego bruised from once again misinterpreting the tone of another party in a conversation): "Oh."

Other Party in Imaginary Conversation: "Seriously? You hate Jerry Maguire? Everybody loves Jerry Maguire. It was like, the best movie of the mid-90's."

You (red-faced, moving towards scarlet; all shame and embarrassment swallowed by your boiling rage): "The widespread success of the film Jerry Maguire was the very first sign of the Apocalypse."

Other Party in Imaginary Conversation: Remains silent. Turns and walks away. Avoids you around the water cooler and at all future social gatherings. Whispers conspiratorially with those gathered near them, glancing towards you when they think you aren't looking: "she hates Jerry."