The Meanings of Little Debbie Snack Cakes

Little Debbie Snack Cakes are sources of much mystery and wonder. How, I ask, can you create a dessert-like snack so full of deliciousness, yet completely devoid of anything remotely resembling actual food ingredients? By pondering the meanings of these faux pastries, we may truly understand the universe.

What your choice of Little Debbie Snack Cake says about you:

Swiss Cake Rolls: Sadomasochists. Most people are unaware of this, but to really enjoy a Swiss Cake Roll, you must first peel off the "chocolate" layer that enrobes the "spongecake" layer. This requires patience and laser focus, after which you will become so frustrated that you consume the rest of the box in one sitting.
Devil  Squares: Submissives. Swiss Cake Rolls with training wheels. Eat these and taste your shame.
Oatmeal Cream Pies: Traditionalists and/or ironic hipsters. These little "pies" seem so homely and wholesome Americana, yet to eat them is to truly know bliss.
Nutty Bars: The paterfamilias. My own dad eats them by the case. Whenever I pass by them in the grocery store, I think, "I need to call Daddy." They remind me of steel lunch pails and faded blue coveralls.

Far out, dude

Cosmic Brownies: If you said "drug users," nope, wrong. Sadly, these do not contain the drugs the box leads you to believe they do. These are the O'Doul's of snack cakes.

Fancy Cakes: No one eats these.
Fudge Rounds: The sensualist. "Chocolate" and more "chocolate-type product" are pressed together into delicious, creamy harmony. A wave of fudge icing adorns the moist, rich cake. These are sometimes called "slut cakes."
Fall Brownies: The snack of the easily amused. Whenever my husband sees them in the store, he says, "FAIL brownies"and laughs in a manner very like either Beavis or Butthead. Then he snaps a photo with his phone. I don't know what he does with this photo, since he doesn't blog or tweet or anything. He does this every time we go to the store. EVERY TIME.
Pecan Spinwheels: Your inner child. These take me back to third grade. My mom has set out a plate of these and a cold glass of milk for me after school. It's fall, and the windows are open in the kitchen as I unroll the Spinwheels and eat them in strips. Mama is washing dishes while asking me about my day. The TV softly chatters in another room. I am not aware of it, but this is an extraordinary moment. One day I will forget the pleasure of eating a snack in the kitchen while my mother speaks warmly to me.

Also, one day I will be fat.