Good eats! Hey, I don’t know about you kids and where you live, but what’s going down here in St. Paul and Minneapolis, we’ve got food truck wars, man. Anything and everything on a stick. The last one I saw was the Tater Tot truck. Have you seen this guy, Gary? The Tater Tot truck guy. There’s the mini donut people. There’s the Asian cuisine people. There’s the taco truck. They all have followings, and they all serve it piping hot fresh out of the window of a moving vehicle. What could go wrong? Fine cuisine. Yet again proving my point that America has made nutrition and eating a sport, a commodity that is to be played at. It’s a game. Find your food truck on Twitter, and then everybody tries to get there before the hot, sugar‑covered toasty tots on a stick are gone.

What will I do? They’re gone. Now we have to settle for the hush puppy taco van. I hate him. That real old guy, he’s mean. Then there’s Italiano Truckiano. Nobody wants pasta in paper. You know the little paper boats? Who the hell eats pasta in a paper boat?

I read probably the worst, saddest statistic I’ve ever read. One in four ‑‑ one in four ‑‑ children will be obese in the next 10 years. Pretty funny, huh?

We go to happy hour. We super‑size. We have food trucks. We deep‑fry butter on sticks. We get food in a minute. We drive through. We eat. Let’s meet for lattes. Let’s meet for hamburgers. Let’s meet for happy hour. Hey, let’s go have a drink. No, I’ve got to go to the grocery store, get some crappy food, and then I’ll meet you for happy hour. Let’s super‑size it.

No! Better yet, let’s go to the beluga buffet! Yes, that’s it. We’re going go to the beluga buffet, and we’re going to graze…just like the cows out here. We’re just going to graze among the meatloaf and the soupy, crappy, shit that you pour all over that stuff. One in four will get diabetes. One in two in 10 years will be getting cancer. If you don’t think there’s a connection to fitness and health and happiness and not eating crap and cancer, you’d be wrong. I don’t care if you believe me or not because…Look where we are. We don’t even know where we are. We’re lost, but I’m sure about one thing. If we look hard enough and Gary pulls out his phone and Twitters where the nearest food truck is, they’ll come right here. We’ll get us some kebabs or perhaps some gyros or buy some falafel.

This is all I have now. Please leave me alone. I’m going to walk away. No! Don’t follow. I’m going to go find a food truck. You stay here. Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it. I’ll send help. I’ll send food. Goodbye.