So the rap sucks. So it was a jingle. So it looked like the aborted fetus of Mrs. Green Giant. That's beyond the point. What IS the point is that if you lived in the 80's and missed out on eating this toxic delight, you missed out. Plain and simple.
There's just something in most Hostess products that just beg the question, is it derivated from heroin. You could easily down these pies in pairs and invite diabetes for dinner, but the sheer gooey delight of biting into one of these pies still brings back memories, because you know that forever fake, synthetic and noxious these things could be for you, you didn't care. Your palette screamed adulation, your taste buds had a luau and your metabolism had better be prepared to take it on.
Delightlyfully delicious? You bet your shell. And that icing? Mondo tubular Cowadelicious. It was so unappealing visually that it made it that more delicious to eat because you saw people gagging while you were in carb & fat bliss. I've been wishing for a return of these pies, even if only riding a nostalgia wave of four months but as of yet, I still haven't gotten my wish. But the inner child in me beats strong, and that's one sugar loaded dream I'm not keen on giving up on.