Aha! In my last entry I had run into a brick wall. It was a dark time for the Republic, indeed. I had faced many humiliations, and despite my persistent efforts I continued to fall short of my goal. What was my goal, you ask? Well, you should know exactly what my goal was because you must check this web internet blog at least five times a day and therefore have intimate knowledge. However, perhaps this is your first time here so I shall recap my goal. Ahem. As I was saying, my goal was a noble yet simple one: I wanted a scrumptious flaky biscuit cookie topped with a heaping portion of marshmallow with chocolate then poured all over and dried until what's left is just the most delicious little treat you've ever tasted! My goal was a Mallomar. Of course, not just any Mallomar, but the ones being produced at Bouchon Bakery. True, I had previously been turned down not once, not twice, not three times, but four times. True, I had been forced to kill several dozen people. But no, I did not give up. Never mistake a quadruple defeat for a final defeat.
Therefore on a lovely spring afternoon I ventured to Bouchon and finally procured three Mallomars. I sat in Central Park with friends and ate and slathered myself in Mallomar. People all around admired me and some stared at my Mallomars in envy. One elderly man looked on too intently for my comfort. "What are you looking at you elderly son of a bitch!" I yelled.
Up next time: Little Debbie Marshmallow Pies: worthy Mallomar companion or inferior imposter?
