A deep, dark, very real depression now sits where my heart once was. We face terrible, very real problems now. For each man a void, but just how much should we be expected to suffer?

In my neighborhood, we are facing quite truly absurd food shortages that impact the simplest actions of everyday life. This is an issue I know I’ve addressed to some degree before and I don’t mean to harp on this matter, but life has turned into a nigh impossible fight for survival, scrounging and scrounging and still failing to dig up any deliciously decadent ice cream or French Crullers. Frankly…I’m out of tricks.

I had, for such a very long time, been a very Vanilla man…perhaps only ever splurging for Bean or French variations. However, one day something snapped inside of me…a total and complete change in my personal passions.

What I came upon was a real Danzig world view, grabbing existence by the horns and riding that metaphorical bull in a very awkward, alarming, and lewdly painful rumpus-room manner that would make certain the loss of one of my more preferred appendages.

This roughly translates to my consuming Crazy Soup, which is 1 part vanilla ice cream, 4 parts chocolate syrup, 12 parts sugar, and 27 parts maple syrup. This was a spectacular sustenance that had the added advantage of providing me the short-lived superhuman ability to scale any surface no matter how steep or solid.

However, in addition to the unfortunate side effect of bloody, crippled, frightfully mangled fingers, Crazy Soup was also a shitload of parts. To simplify my urges I took it upon myself to chart a course for the local supermarket where I would be sure to find pre-packaged Crazy Soup substitutes.

What I found were 5 different brands of the following flavors: Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, and Neapolitan. Lovely. More brands than flavors. Seriously.

Amongst my many adventures in foreign lands – Pennsylvania – I have come across ridiculously decadent flavors that generally revolve around 8 different types of chocolate wrapped about 3 different kinds of fudge, covered in the murdered liquids of 2 additional fudges.

This is a fine touchstone…a general standard one would expect to find in some quantity in any ice creamery. And so I went with such expectations to my local Baskin Robbins…31 flavors, dig? It was there that I found such rich and varied flavors as Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, and Neapolitan. Really?

I did find some “creative” flavors. though I wouldn’t as such call them tasty or decadent. Maybe its just me, but “Pine Cone Crunch”, “Double Ribbon Potpourri” and “Warm Dishrag” are not the most appealing concoctions.

I am, however, highly adaptive…a real survivor…and my very biology has literally changed in order to accommodate my will to live as I was able to replace shockingly sweet frozen dairy with a new foodstuff: French Crullers.

And so I turn around and find myself at my local Dunkin’ Donuts. What I don’t find….is French…Fucking…Crullers. Wow…way to go Dunkin’ Donuts…you’re selling sushi now…but not French Crullers.

Right.

Today in the park, a basketball game was violently interrupted by the popcorn rattle of gunfire, throwing many peaceful park-goers flat on their stomach clinging to the uncertain safety of the asphalt and still others scattering, fleeing away from the scene or unwittingly into the very heart of the uproar. Its always hard to accurately get at the psychology behind such a violent act, but clearly some distraught man cracked under the heat of the summer and the unacceptable lack of Double Icing Fudge Explosion Triple Chocolate Cookie Dough Party Cake Ice Cream, voicing his anguish through the only options left to him.

Panic sets in…and it should. It has for me….and I too am not exactly on the up-and-up, resorting to an underground black market of crullers and other confections. But what choice is a man left with? It is that or starve…surely. Am I expected to take the train for a sugar hunt downtown every time I simply seek to sustain myself?

I find it stupefying and deeply offensive that the National Guard has not been brought in to handle the situation, shepherding the arrival of Red Cross packages containing Infinity Fudge Caramel Sugar Suckle ice cream and the frenchiest of French Crullers, forcing storeowners not only to sell me these very basic life necessities, but also place them in my mouth and help me chew at precise hour intervals throughout the day, in my waking hours and my slumber. My biology demands it.

Can nothing now fill this void?

Oh mighty Giton! Why hast though forsaken me?

I’m Thomas K…and I’m not.