I am starting to become convinced that that the environment of Florida really does hate me.
I got home last night, thought about the large dinner that I was going to cook, that was also supposed to become my lunch the next day, thought about the time and effort and dishes, and ended up having a bowl of generic sugar smacks for dinner instead. An hour or two later, sugar smacks sloshing in my stomach, I thought I would go for a bike ride. I have been hiding from the evil outside too long. So I went out and hopped on my bike and started to pedal away. I got about two blocks before thick swarms of bugs started to slap against my body. It was disgusting and it made me pedal faster, which only caused more bugs to plaster against me. I had to breath through clenched teeth in fear of inhaling one up my nose or into my mouth. I finally gave up and turned around and came back home.
I think every state has a time of year when you simply do not deal with the outside. Up north its winter. You are stuck inside due to the snow and cold. In Florida its summer, because you go outside and the bugs swarm you and the heat makes you miserable and the humidity fritzes up your hair to the point there you do not want any respectable member of society gazing up your nappy fro.
To top things off this morning I woke up with a thumping headache and a stuffed nose. I was confused for a bit as to what was going on until I realized the atmosphere outside was saturated with smoke and my little wall a/c unit had been pumping it into my bedroom all night. The smoke was from fires in Daytona that were sparked by lightning of all things. Hot humid air filled with smoldering smoke. Sometimes I think if I get run over by a truck and wake up in hell, I'll be right back where I started: Florida. Except I'll have a gleeful devil poking me in my ass with a pitchfork.
So, the moral of the story is: Sugar Smacks make a great dinner. Dig 'Em!
2026 Update
Setting the dial to September 2007, where Ed's grand culinary plan collapses into generic Sugar Smacks and bug-slapping bike rides.
Ah, 2007, when a man could blame Florida for his dinner choices and type it into a blog no one read. I miss that energy. Ed's wall unit pumping smoke into his bedroom is a perfect artifact: back then air quality was something you discovered by waking up with a headache, not by glancing at a phone app that nags you about pollen, particulates, and misery indices. The humble AC unit itself has changed too—now they're sleek, connected, and whisper about subscription filters, which is somehow worse. Cereal aisles have become a museum of mascots; the generic knockoff Sugar Smacks that saved Ed from dishes would probably be rebranded as "artisanal puffed maize with nostalgic honey notes" and cost quadruple. And the entire genre of "personal blog where a regular guy whines about bugs" has been replaced by video rants filmed inches from a ring light, which is less charming and much louder. Florida still hates people, but now it has more ways to watch them complain.
“2007 Ed, when you decided that a bowl of generic Sugar Smacks was the only sane response to your own kitchen, did you ever wonder whether the bugs and smoke were actually just Florida's way of making you admit you didn't want to wash dishes?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, you might be onto something, and that's a scary thought. I stood there in that kitchen, staring at a pan I'd have to scrub, and the whole universe seemed to conspire to remind me that I am, at heart, a lazy bastard. The bugs weren't just bugs, they were tiny flying accusations. The smoke wasn't smoke, it was the ghost of every dish I've ever neglected. And honestly? Yeah, I wondered. I wondered if Florida itself was just a big, humid, bug-infested excuse for me to give up and eat sugar cereal for dinner. But here's the thing—even if it is, I'm not sure I mind. The sugar smacks were sweet, the dishes stayed dirty, and I got to feel smug about my own patheticness. That's a win in my book. Dig 'Em.
