Hiding out in the depths of a plastic bag are dozens of scrumptious scorching starchy sticks. These malicious sticks have a keen sense for susceptible mouths; they suck people into a horrid, dirty, spicy habit. Unlike any other Frito-Lay, they are fueled by hot peppers that ignite their incentive to kill taste buds. Among every person there is a hidden desire for the fire inviting Flaming Hot Cheetos. They do not suddenly appear in a shopping cart, but they inconspicuously hide behind other chips on the junk food isle, waiting to creep into a customer’s view when the time is right. Be aware: they are really just waiting for the perfect person to stumble upon their packaging. Once they have convinced the unsuspecting victim to purchase them, they initiate their plan to stain fingertips forever, through thousands of accomplices. They are not as innocent as they sound; they are a nasty, dirty, god-forsaken, bowel-destroying addiction that can lead to the destruction of the indulgent’s life, as well as digestive system. I should know; I was that unsuspecting victim two years prior to the record of this addiction.
In the beginning Flaming Hot Cheetos are not posed as a threat; but a mere addition to any home’s junk food shelf. For me, it started with the simple task of craving a light, fluffy, airy snack, and attempting to satisfy that craving with a little spice. At first my taste buds rejected them, knowing that the Cheetos were up to no good yet I continued to have a few more here and there, when I wanted to spice up my meal. A handful once a week was all I believed necessary, but it was equivalent to a jailbird’s first civil tort. At first I only noticed little difference in the regulatory movements of my bowel, but I figured that was only temporary. I told my rectum to relax, it was only a one time thing.
After that first bag, a craving for another is apparent: Flaming Hot Cheetos are on the grocery list for good at this stage in their evil plan to take over the victim‘s digestive system. No longer are the Cheetos at the level of a civil tort; they are creeping into the category of a criminal, but they are not yet on any ‘Wanted’ lists, as they have not become a threat to society. The only thing that can be tracked at this point in the addiction is their fingerprints-red, greasy, and smudged in various places. I had yet to experience any real problem socially until the time they secreted a mass amount of their secret spicy ingredient into my gastrointestinal system. I did not know true pain until one day, after a week of constant indulging of the Cheetos, I was out with my boyfriend on Valentines day. We had just finished dinner when I suddenly felt the effects of the Cheetos linger low in my intestines. Without saying a word, I clenched my butt cheeks and made way for the nearest restroom. What was once a simple snack was becoming a menace to not only my digestive track, but my love life. Obviously after that all romance of the night was lost (I was not so attractive after all of that grunting). Instead of glaring at the Cheetos for ruining my anticipated romantic evening, I grabbed the bag and ate until my fingers were red with Valentines day spirit.
After the first encounter with the consequences of Flaming Hot Cheeto addiction, the indulgent no longer regards the complications-instead, they become blind to the problems that are arising in their life. I should know, I experienced this from Valentines day forth, when Flaming Hot Cheetos took a toll on more than just my love life. My little brother had become addicted at a faster rate than I had. Being the older sister, my parents blamed his problem entirely on me. I wanted to turn the Cheetos in to the police, but I was in denial. They were not the criminal, no, not at all. My brother and I were simply innocent bystanders to a false accusation. I was no longer alone in this battle; my little brother and I went through two bags a day. We were on a taste bud killing spree. One day my boyfriend came over unexpectedly, catching me in the act of placing a Cheeto in my mouth, and snatched the bag from me. He threw them into the old chandelier in my entry way, unreachable to anyone. I tried to resist the urge for a week, but went in to full blown relapse one day after running on an empty stomach. Not only did I retrieve the bag by drastically jumping off of my staircase, grabbing the Cheetos, and landing on the couch with perfect form, I rescued the Cheetos from imprisonment. This should have been a sure sign that I was an addict at my peak, but I mindlessly inhaled the entire bag. Instead of having a irritating reaction in my rectum, the very beginning of the GI system rejected the Cheetos: regurgitation occurred. Of course, after this I had to get the funky taste out of my mouth. Luckily there was a bag of Cheetos nearby.
After Flaming Hot Cheetos successfully destroy the indulgent’s GI system and personal relationships, they either continue their path to complete and utter destruction or they are found guilty on many counts and thrown forever into a garbage can. After my little brother was sent home from school for having diarrhea in his pants, he swore it upon himself to never have another Flaming Hot Cheeto in his life. Though I was twice his age, I agreed completely. I made it my summer goal to extinguish the fiery addiction. At first, I had trouble eating regular foods. Thanks to my caring doctor, I obtained a daily dose of a drug that would restore proper acidic levels in my stomach. By the end of the summer I had regained the nutritional trust of my family and my boyfriend finally forgave me for ruining so many dates with my excessive bathroom visits. Now, I cannot say that I have not had the urge to purchase a bag, but I find that when I have a relapse, I quickly lock the Cheetos up in a little jail I call my handy garbage can when I realize what I am getting myself into. It’s been a long time since I had my last bag, and I have no desire to indulge in such a criminal of a Cheeto ever again, I think my butt would personally throw me in jail.
The account of becoming and kicking the addiction of Flaming Hot Cheetos has helped me realize the extent of what my addiction truly was. Luckily, the Cheetos are guilty as charged and remain behind bars under the surveillance of local grocery store cameras. My gastrointestinal system is back and functioning better than ever-I recently wrote a letter to my rectum apologizing for all of the damage I must have caused it during my addiction. If ever I find myself craving just one little nibble of such a fiery snack ever again, I will be sure to take a few Exlax, just to remember what it was like.
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