Credit where it’s orangely due, Donald Trump has, according to my careful research, successfully stimulated the economy.
Until recently, I had not eaten a Cheeto since I was maybe eleven years old. I was never especially fond of them and as an oddly tidy kid, I really hated the gross finger hangover associated with them.
Seeing Trump referred to constantly in Cheeto terms though, made me remember them fondly, like one might (wrongfully) remember Cap’n Crunch, or Top the Tater, or tiny wax bottles full of tinted (presumably) chemical waste. So I bought a bag, through my online grocery service (a truly welcome innovation for shameful food purchases, I don’t even have to be home to get Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls; they just show up on my porch without any human contact, especially if I hide, perfectly still, upstairs in the dark during the predicted delivery range.)
And they were fucking horrible: as messy and crappy and gummy and artificial-tasting as I remembered. And each successive bag was no better. I have shamefully, secretly ordered maybe a dozen bags since January. And they’re addictive: they go horribly well with iced coffee, for breakfast, or alongside a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. They’re the perfect snack while waiting for Indian or Thai food to be delivered for supper, and almost guarantee that the expensive meal brought to my doorstep will be ruined, both in terms of appetite and aftertaste.
Like the aforementioned Cap’n Crunch, they pack the molars smooth in a terrifyingly satisfying way, which isn’t surprising, since they’re pretty much the same foodstuff, only less sugar and added orange “cheez” matter. It’s so satisfying, biting down on the Crunchy variety while pondering the ruination of the world: it reminds me of the teen-aged time I was really high and ate a pound and a half of grapes, because the sensation of slowwwwly bearing down on them with my molars until they popped was so exquisite (although I threw up grape skins for about half an hour. At a drive-in theater, which is why, technically, I have never seen a Star Wars movie.)
So, I know I’m not especially unique or original: my stepfather drummed that into me during my formative years: it made the molestation so much more enjoyable for him, apparently. It occurred to me: I can’t be the only one with a new Orange habit, because of Subliminal Donald Head Effect. Last night, a friend texted me: mmmm cheetos and vodka for supper again. Inspired, I did some scientific research: I texted a carefully selected group of geographically and culturally diverse subjects (friends who live in other states, one of whom I think is Vietnamese, but it seems rude to ask) and queried them about their childhood and adult Cheetos habits. Here are the results, published for the first time, lucky you:
West Coast: Ate them as a stoner teenager, haven’t had them for years, bought a bag a month ago, couldn’t believe how gross they were, bought another bag last week.
East Coast: Pretended not to really be sure what Cheetos were, but eventually confessed to having tried them as a child, and having had them at a party a couple of months ago, and preferring the original variety to Crunchy, and claimed the Hot variety were disgusting and owned up to buying them at the bodega “sometimes” after years of avoiding them.
South: Fuck yeah, Never stopped buying them, but all of a sudden is seeing people eating them unironically and foodies using them as breading on meats.
Midwest: Me. Fatty says yes.
Florida: (different/worse than just “South.”) Originally from Chicago, Wicker Park to put far too fine a point on it, Florida Man admits to eating “more Cheetos in the last year than his entire childhood,” despite really hating Cheetos commercials.
Canada: “Does it matter, I don’t live in the U.S.?” Fair point.
There you have it: Science. Science says more people are eating more Cheetos than they used to, since Donald’s (offensively expensive) inauguration. So this “president” has indeed personally and dramatically increased consumer spending.
Not for nothing, I bought a nail brush in bright orange, to scrub the orange crap off my fingers. I also tried using chopsticks to eat them, then googled this and found out it was A Thing, and felt a whole lot less original and clever (cheers to you, rotten stepfather.) So more consumer confidence in the nail brush sector too, thanks to our inspirational prez.
Have you cheetoed more than usual, or for the first time in a long time? Don’t leave me hanging in sticky fingered shame: lie if you have to. Join the Cheeto Generation.