When I bite into a York Peppermint Patty, I'm not on the top of an Alp. I'm not hanging with Eskimos. I'm not about to shred a powder-perfect mountain with my snowboard. When I bite into a York Peppermint Patty, I see death.
I was driving and I opened my patty at a light - safely, thank you. Light turned green, I went, and I took a big bite of chocolate and peppermint and nearly died. My throat closed. I couldn't suck even the tiniest of winds. I chewed frantically and tried to breathe. My sight was closing down into a tunnel. Darks were very dark and lights were washed-out bright. How was I steering? My foot lagged on the gas as I swallowed reflexively and kept trying to breathe. I can only imagine my eyes were bugging out of my head, my limbs becoming weaker. I thought vaguely of pulling over, but I couldn't spare the energy--I needed to breathe!
Finally, a teenie bit of air. I swallowed and sucked another teenie bit. Not enough, and not fast enough. I looked at Death. Death from a friggin' York Peppermint Patty. What a stupid way to go.
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