Forget underwear bombers. What we need is a comprehensive multilateral War on Diet Terrorism. Target No. 1: Girl Scout cookies.
Like insidious Improvised Engorgement Devices, open boxes of the things are scattered all around the newsroom as the Miami Herald Fitness Challenge rolls -- well, staggers -- into its fourth week. And they're proving lethal for me and my colleague-competitors Andrew Richardson and Lisett Araujo.
Just to reach our desks each morning, we have to dodge through storms of Thin Mints, Peanut Butter Patties and the sinister Samoas. Geneva Convention be damned: Whoever invented the Samoa, a vanilla cookie packed in caramel, coconut and chocolate, should be waterboarded twice -- first as punishment, then to get the recipe.
We probably shouldn't hold the cookies -- mere inanimate objects, albeit 1.2 million-calorie-apiece objects -- responsible. Or even the Girl Scouts. The real problem is Girl Scout moms, the ones who actually sell the cookies these days. They rampage up and down the aisles of the newsroom like miniature blond Mafia capos, making offers that cannot be refused: ``What do you mean, you only want THREE boxes? This is for my DAUGHTER.'' Read the rest of my tirade against the manifest evil of the Girl Scouts and their malignant cookies in the Miami Herald.
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