They used to, but after the infamous cake crash of 2012 and the subsequent resurrection no one bothered to distribute the most amazing food ever north of the 49th parallel (hang on - does Alaska have Twinkies? That would be deeply wrong).
Luckily our contraband mules James and Gen managed to smuggle ten through YVR (I didn't ask where they hid them) and so I am in receipt of the only pack of Twinkies in 50 miles. Apart from all those people who cross the border to shop in the USA every weekend I suppose.
But who should I share this treasure chest of spongy gold bars with? No one, obviously, but then I remembered how important it is for our son to remain connected to the cultural heritage of his birthplace. He's never tasted inorganic food so I reluctantly handed over an artificial-cream-filled miracle. His reaction?
Suspicion.
Confusion.
Wariness.
Recklessness.
Destruction.
Fulfillment.
Oblivion.
Understanding.
