Reverse Cookie

Written February 16, 2009.

So I'm holding this cookie, except the chips are white and the dough is brown. I thought to offer it to the girl next to me, except I wondered what I would say. The first thing that popped into my mind was "hey you want to try a reverse cookie?" And then that got me…what would be the qualifications of such a "reverse cookie"? Would such a title be warranted by the mere swap of dough and chip colors? Perhaps by making the cookie primarily chocolate with bits of dough cooked into it? Or, delving even deeper into this issue, what if it was a spacial matter? That a true reverse cookie would simply be a situation where everything else is cookie dough, but with a small pocket of air in the center in the shape of a cookie? Would a true reverse cookie even exist on the same plane of time and space? I remember someone rambling about some theory that every time you think of something, it's instantly created on a parallel plane of existence. So has my reverse cookie come into existence by the typing of this sentence? And with this next sentence, is there now some spectral being eating my newly created cookie in this other dimension, laughing its head off at me?

That got me thinking. What if everything I looked at instantly filled with cookie dough? Including air and space? Like, utterly and completely just…became cookie dough? The person across from me, the carpet, the wood pillars in my peripheral vision, even the air between my eyes and the aforementioned? I'd probably run out of air to breathe rather quickly…but I could just eat myself an air hole, as long as I don't look at it. Eventually, after I wreaked havoc for awhile, the military would probably try to swarm me. And after they like lost a few dudes, they'd try to snipe me from long distance. Only some high-up officer would see the possibilities of my ability, and would order them to take me alive…so they'd try to bag me with tranquilizer darts. But I'd just stand in the middle of some field, creating walls of cookie dough to stop all such attempts. And just to be annoying, if I did get shot, I would die with my eyes open. In the end though, they'd probably put me to sleep somehow (maybe by dipping a Pollock work in ether and throwing it at me…or something else I couldn't bear to look at). And after many sad years alone, blindfolded in a laboratory somewhere, I'd be set free after they had their fill…and probably found someone more interesting - somebody that turns everything into packing peanuts or something. Then old, used, and tired, I'd end up in some cookie factory with a 24-hour guard until I died.

Hmm.