Goldfish crackers. Goldfish? Goldie…fish? Goal!!!!! Fish. Gollyfishy, gold. Oh, my pretty gal fish. Goldie, Goldie , Goldie…..Goldilocks! Goldie lock that thang. Ah, goldfish…yum, yum, yum. Deflated on the toilet, rattling intensely to let this god-dang thing go, I thought of it: Original Goldfish crackers. Peculiarly, I suppose that my poop’s putrid smell whet my appetite. But then I thought how disgusting it was for crap to be my favourite food, so I tried to stop thinking about it. But then I could not. With a toot, I flew off the toilet seat like a rocket ship. I looked into the toilet and to my surprise, my gyre of crap was turning into crackers. While washing my hands, the water reflected a rich golden brown. With each step I took, the floor crunched like autumn leaves. Everywhere and everything was filling me to the brim with my beloved. But one thing was missing and it was my favourite part. I desperately craved its taste.

As such, I zoomed out of the bathroom, gave my class a free session, inhaled their homework(I really put it in my bag) and set straight for the supermarket. As I pressed the gas, I jolted back with a thud (and honestly with a tinge of fear too). Driving in my neon pink Cadillac (Just believe me please.) I was a symbol, the Rock, in Fast and Furious 1958. I smirked like Megamind at my brilliant plan (What was the plan? To just drive fast of course. Keep up.). But then this guy came. “Drive you! The light is green!” I roared. Tight friction burned my hands along the black leather steering wheel. My head pounded, “Brrrrrrr!” like my horn blared. This guy was getting in the way of my darling and me and for that, he had to go. I got out of my car.

“Hey, answer!” I said as I marched (suavely of course) to her car (She just has to be a woman OK……I need a little interaction). Standing akimbo, I looked straight at her face (Thank God she was a woman.) and gave her the most menacing death stare of all time (and of course, she was turned on too. Yeah….definitely.).

“Hello, Elvis. Nice outfit.” she said (I was wearing my pink Cartier (Just believe OK) diamond studded jumpsuit.).

“Well, why thank you miss. Everyone tells me that (It really was my mom.). But the thing is, YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO DRIVE LADY!”

“Oh really. You know how to drive sugar boy?”(What a sweet nickname.).

“Of course! To go just press the gas.”

“Oh no! I don’t know where the gas pedal is. Can you show me please big boy?”(Wahmen. Always so naïve. That’s why they need me…hopefully.)

As any gentleman (as great as I) would do, I dipped my torso and curled my head through her window. As I pointed at the gas pedal, “Buff!”

At first, I thought that I was just delirious. In the noon’s ferocious heat, I was melting after all. I guessed this mainly because first, my mind was a complete befuddled mess but more than that, the scene before me shone so brightly that it scorched my eyes. As I peeled myself off the floor, pain reverberated throughout my body. The gravel’s unforgiving claws had scraped me all over. I feebly rolled over onto my side. Thinking back on it, honestly, the light was probably from the ambulance, but when I saw the Goldfish crackers beside me its radiance explained everything to me (But really, goldfish? That’s your weapon? At least knock me out with a 1993 Sanrio Boxed Hello Kitty Set of 9 Mini Figures 2000100…. ). In my battle-scarred hand, I rose up the smooth cracker like Thor’s hammer. Its heart-warming oval shape gently closed my eyes and I eagerly slipped the treat into my mouth. I started crunching. Sailing throughout my mouth’s sea, the cracker left behind its sweet salty goodness. I hastily crunched more.

Then it hit me. A pang of acute bitterness stabbed my throat. Then, I remembered why I love these crackers so much. They are actually horrible, unendingly horrible. They stink of processed cat crap and you can tell from how artificial its odious colour looks. They are so vile that everything else seems like heaven. I eat them at work because I despise my job. I eat them in the car because I dread my endless commute. I eat them at home because I hate my family life. I eat them everywhere because I absolutely loathe my life. But this is not a bad thing. As long as I eat my Original Goldfish crackers, I am a guy in Greece watching people on the beach.