Ever since way back in 2010 humanity has been pondering what will be our fate in the year 2012. So far, John Cusack has been wrong:
So we all continued to ponder the almighty Mayan Calendar, searching in vain for some small indicator of our horrible fate:
Yesternight after much research and an abundance of sugary snacks, I finally spotted it:
There it was, as plain as day. That dude with his tongue out is clearly holding a Twinkie in each hand. Yet I failed to behold the significance of the image until it was too late. For in all my years of study I neglected the all-important field of zero-nutrient foodstuffs. I learned what it is that shall be swallowed in the fires of demons (or maybe just bankruptcy) at the close of 2012: THE TWINKIE. Yes, Hostess has shuttered its doors and it’s sayonara to the Twinkie.
Thousands are fleeing in terror to stockpile this treasured log of empty calories, but their efforts are in vain. The cosmos has aligned and lo, the Twinkie shall be swallowed by the infinite void of time. We were given fair warning. Behold:
I know. I know. This is serious. The apocalypse of 2012 will claim the life of our beloved Twinkie. We’re going to have to go through the five stages of grief now that we’ve learned our apocalyptic fate. Here to help demonstrate the appropriate expressions of each stage is Woody Harrelson.
So there. Now the world knows. Believe me it brought no pleasure to this intrepid journalist to discover the truth, but I have a duty to inform the public. May you all make peace with whatever gods you worship as we step into a most certainly doomed postapocalyptic Twinkie-free future.