Oh, that is the one thing I have always hoped for in life. An unfilled sponge slab. This is a broken home of a cake. You buy this cake at eleven at night, after you finish your twelve hour shift, before coming home to find a note from your spouse saying they’ve left you. You sit at the kitchen table and break off big dry chunks of slab with your bare hands, before dipping them in undiluted whiskey and shoving them unthinkingly into your mouth while you stare at the wall. You leave the half-eaten cake on the table and crawl into bed for two days.
Went to a screening of North By Northwest with mump and six-klicks-east, to which ten out of a possible hundred people turned up. And that is why the waitstaff gave up and literally gave me the entire platter of smoked salmon.
There’s something truly beautiful about this sweet little slogan of Sanitarium’s. Because, obviously, when used in common conversation, this phrase usually refers to you as a person. It doesn’t matter what you look like, it’s the person who’s inside that’s important.
But Sanitarium’s talking about making you healthy from the inside out. They’re in the business of selling food to feed your body. They mean what’s literally inside of you that’s important.
“We love your organs.” Say Sanitarium. “All that red squishy stuff is what’s important. You might have the prettiest skin suit in the world, but if your pancreas is faulty then you can fuck off. If we peel back your lovely face and find out you have an ugly skull then it’s over between us. It’s what’s inside that counts.”
Gillian McKeith goes missing. Her body is found three years later in the Sanitarium basement. Three cereal manufacturers giggle as they’re dragged away. “She was perfect!” They chitter. “She was what she ate!”