So this summer I treated myself to a little vacation to New York City. I don’t really care about all the normal tourist stuff (everybody hypes up Times Square but it’s just, like, a really crowded city block. That’s it.) but there were two things that I definitely needed to experience.
Thing one: denigrate New York-style pizza at every opportunity. This means going into all the pizza places and loudly belittling their oversized tasteless floppy triangles.
Thing two: visit the Pop-Tart Museum.
Thing three: not get a GF or even talk to any females because DTB is done with women forever. My reasoning for this decision is explained in more detail in various other video descriptions scattered around my expansive and frankly, stunning body of written work.
I know I said there were only two things I wanted to do in NYC and I listed three, but I can do that because it’s my narrative therefore it’s my rules. If you don’t like it you can kindly unsubscribe from my channel and from my life. Thanks.
So the Pop-Tart Museum was first on my list because Pop-Tarts are a big part of my life because I’m not really a five-star chef when it comes to making food in the kitchen. I’m like a one-star chef. The one star means I can use a microwave.
I wouldn’t say that the Pop-Tart Museum was a pilgrimage for me, but it totally kinda was. I pilgrimed my ass right in through the front door and I was immediately blown away by all the different kinds of Pop-Tarts. When I saw them all I actually had to sit down on the floor and take some deep breaths so I wouldn’t pass out.
There weren’t too many people there but I could just tell. These were my people. Fellow Pop-Tart aficionados. Most of the people there were parents with their kids, but I actually relate to kids a lot especially when it comes to food choices. I could talk to first-graders all day about Hot Pockets.
There were some informational placards about the history of the Pop-Tart, but reading is lame, so I just went to the part of the museum where you could sample all kinds of historical flavors. Did you know they made carrot Pop-Tarts at one point? And “Bagel with Cream Cheese”? I was trying them all and, let me tell you guys, I was in heaven. Pure straight-up bliss. I don’t want to throw around terms like “nearly sexually aroused”, but, you know. Yeah.
I was just reaching for the ultra-rare Japan-only “Sriracha” flavor when my hand bumped into somebody else’s. I looked up ready to apologize, but the words got stuck in my throat and I just kind of moaned. I was looking at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was realistically a 6.7/10 but I’m not into the supermodels anyway. I think she was hotter because she had half a Pop-Tart hanging out of her mouth and she had on a button-up blouse with little Pop-Tarts all over it that she probably ordered off of Etsy. (side note: I don’t know what Etsy is.)
“Sorry”, she giggled after taking the Pop-Tart (Banana Flavor) out of her mouth. “Go ahead.”
“Ladies first,” I offered. I try not to be a “nice guy” but it worked this time. Sort of. Just wait.
She giggled again and took the Sriracha Pop-Tart and then broke it in half. “Here, we can share,” she said, and she giggled some more and I could tell she was into me. We ate that Pop-Tart while staring at each other. I decided the time was ripe to tell her about my artisanal “Pop-Tart Sandwiches” that I make at home, where I surround one flavor of Pop-Tart with two of another flavor. She confided in me that she did the same. Boom. Instant soulmates. My resolution to never have a GF again crumbled right there.
I wanted to tell her that she could try my “Banana Flavor” any time but I felt like that line wasn’t even needed at this point. Instead I invited her to my hotel room that had a microwave so we could have Pop-Tart Sandwiches. She accepted and we walked out onto the street. You’ll never guess who walked by us right at that moment. Actually you probably will.
It was Kyle Korver.
He was walking by himself and when he saw the museum he started making fun of it. “Wow, only losers eat Pop-Tarts,” he said to himself while guffawing like a moron. This girl, who I didn’t even know what her name was, had stopped walking and was just staring at him. I was trying to nudge her but she was in a total trance. Completely lovestruck by his stupidly handsome face. Kyle noticed her staring and said, “Pop-Tarts are complete garbage, am I right?”
Then, the ultimate betrayal. She nodded and said, “I hate Pop-Tarts. They’re not even real food.” I almost started crying. And by almost, I mean I did start crying.
I don’t think Kyle ever even saw me, not like it would have stopped what happened next. He said to my girl, “Why don’t you and me get a slice of New York-style pizza and get to know each other a little bit more?” And she left with him.
Now I’m back in my hotel room and I don’t even want to eat Pop-Tarts. I hate Kyle Korver so god damn much. God damn it.