Culprit: Buttered Popcorn and a Heart Attack, large.

Villainous Calories Involved: 664.

Partner-in-Crime: Pepsi Can Anonymous, 100 (8 fl oz only!)

Pleads Guilty With: “Take a million Wednesday movie goers… multiply that by 664…”

Yeah, we know Buttered Popcorn–you’re superheroing the overpopulated lands of America with voluntary heart attacks from dawn to dusk. (Well, maybe not dawn. Who the hell sees a movie at dawn? Maybe college students are popping you away in the microwave for breakfast…)

I thought it was best to introduce you now that the Harry Potter craze has hit the movie theatres. I, for one, was considering a smaller version of you for my 9:30 going of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince tonight, but then I thought about how the movie was already decimating my 30 minutes of book-reading-and-bike-riding-fame, and I thought, “I wonder what buttered popcorn has to say for himself?”

The mere idea of how much Buttered Popcorn and a Heart Attack is going to be consumed over the course of July 15, 2009 is mind boggling and, quite frankly, makes me want to pull out a dusty ol’ Supersize Me.

Make sure to wash your popcorn down with some Pepsi–mmm, mmm, calorie-good!

Culprit: The Ninja Potato Chicken from Panda Express.

Villainous Calories Involved: 200.

Partner-in-Crime: Conniving Nectarine, 70.

Pleads Innocent With: “You went without me for over a year while I was replaced by the infamous Beijing Beef, but now I’m back with a bang, and I know my sparse calories only makes me tastier. Combine me in a bowl with some steamed rice, and you have mmm-mmm good lunch under 500 calories!”

I dunno, Ninja Potato Chicken… first you disappear on me in the middle of the night, then you try to convince me you’re under 500 calories after rice and a tiny cup of that sinful Mandarin Sauce? The thing is, had I not found you at the side of the road while I bolted to the computer store to buy a new set of headphones during lunch, I would have had three Canniving Nectarines over you… and that’s just 210 calories total, no rice or Mandarin Sauce included.

Oh, but Ninja Potato Chicken, you stealth in the night, you and your katana you stab right into my food-loving heart on sight. I felt myself at loss for breath when I walked into yet another Panda Express, the eighth one I’ve checked looking for you since Beijing Beef’s Reign, and there you were, staring me in the face, punching me in the gut.

If you haven’t tried some Ninja Potato Chicken, and you live near one, I suggest looking for it now–before it disappears yet again in a bomb of smoke! I can vouch for the Panda Express in Fountain Valley.

PS – You do not look as attractive as your homemade, photogenic version, but never fear: I still enjoyed you.

Villainous Calories Involved: Unknown!

Partner-in-Crime: Coastal Cooler Capri Sun, 100.

Pleads Innocent With: “I’m sneaky-sneaky! If you can’t find the evidence of my calories, you can’t convict me!”

What’s with the obsession with outdated Wicked Beverages lately? This one is to be blamed on Once Upon a Win though, so it’s all good! It’s hard to condemn the Silly Squeezit, a treat many of us enjoyed as children. Juice boxes are unhealthy enough as it is (and therefor fun!), but stick them in a squeezable plastic container, and you have a winner. Silly, silly squeezit!

Culprit: Cynical Citrus Cherry Mountain Dew, also known as Mountain Dew Game Fuel – Citrus Cherry.

Villainous Calories Involved: 120, 8 fl oz.

Partner-in-Crime: Torturous Tropical Sprite Remix, 0 (You can’t drink it anymore, really.)

Pleads Guilty With: “Soda is full of so many calories, it makes your pores drain with color and your heart run to the hills. You don’t drink me because you’re dieting, you drink me because you’re fighting other World of Warcraft players. Didn’t you know I am the official game fuel sponsor for World of Warcraft?”

Oh, I figured it out, Cynical Citrus Cherry Mountain Dew. The part I don’t understand is why I play Alliance most of the time, and here I am supporting a Horde beverage. Could it be that zangy cherry and zippity citrus that gets me? You’re like the new fruity replacement for poor Torturous Tropical Sprite Remix!

Your participation in the gaming fuel came long before you were turned into game fuel though, Cynical Citrus Cherry Mountain Dew. You’ve been Mountain Dewing people since Hard Like Heroic, even if it took me over a year to figure out what that actually means.

Culprit: Torturous Tropical Sprite Remix.

Villainous Calories Involved: 148, 12 fl oz.

Partner-in-Crime: Pepsi Can Anonymous, 100.

Pleads Guilty With: [Nothing, because it's dead already. We'll move to the verdict.]

The verdict is in, Torturous Tropical Sprite Remix, taken from the Nice Guy himself:

I thought I had tasted the worst bottled bile that the brightest minds at the biggest beverage corporations could ever conjure up. I figured I was in the clear, home free, out of the woods, back from the dark side… I thought my service to save humanity (or at least the chumps who read this zine) from flavors that will make you bite your tongue just for the sweet release of the taste of blood, was concluded. I was wrong. The article was nearly complete and the Nice Guy Journal of Junk Food research laboratory was ready to shut down until I conjure up some other crap to consume for next issue; but then Brian Sodameister steps into my ‘office’ at 8:15 am on a dismal Monday in late April and drops this bomb on me. Damn him and his commitment to junk food. Fuckin’ fruit flavored Sprite – clear in a clear bottle. Truly a flavor straight from Satan himself. I’m pretty much out of clever insults, but stress assured this is yet another nasty soda in a long, long line of nasty sodas I wish I had never heard of. Kill me now.

Of course, you’re not even on the market anymore. Not since African American mothers complained their children mixed you with codine syrup back in 2005.

It’s too bad you were put on the chopping block, what with the adoration several people gave to you, me included. Your bubbliness, and your fruitiness–oh, that I was not old enough to legally mix you with someone else when you existed, nor intelligent enough to illegally mix you! The blasphemy!

But it’s okay, Torturous Tropical Sprite Remix. Your berry twin sister was discontinued as well. You may live on in infamy while I take a normal sprite and load it with grenadine.

Culprit: Conniving Nectarine.

Villainous Calories Involved: 70.

Partner-in-Crime: Heavenly Apricot, 17.

Pleads Innocent With: “I realize I’m not like the Heavenly Apricot, but I still kick the shit out of Sinister Banana. We’re talking two-and-a-half of me for one piece of phallic fruit. Can you really judge me?”

Conniving Nectarine, I dunno. I savor a banana far slower than you, especially when that banana is from Agora Churrascaria and is covered in cinnamon after being deep-fried in some healthy substitute for oil.

Not like the 198 calorie fried banana at all… more like a cinnamon sauteed banana, I would think…

But enough about the fucking Sinister Banana. This is about you, Conniving Nectarine, and you can’t hide behind Heavenly Apricot. Heavenly Apricot might look more like you than Sinister Banana, but you are nowhere near the calorie comparison. I eat you in 2 minutes flat at my computer, Conniving Nectarine!

Culprit: Heavenly Apricot.

Villainous Calories Involved: 17.

Partner-in-Crime: Sinister Banana, 172.

Pleads Innocent With: “I’m 17 calories. No joke. Seven. Teen. Cal-or-ies.”

It’s a little disturbing how a large fruit can shrink into such a miniscule dried treat, but even six dried apricots choc up to a whopping 100 calories. I found myself at the grocery store last weekend, staring at the “On Sale!” fruit box full of ripe apricots with orange-and-red skins, and I really weighed this one.

• I got six of them for $1.50.
• I get to eat ten of them before I reach the point of one Sinister Banana.
• They take energy to eat around that nightmare-inducing seed that grates against your teeth, so you’re, like, burning a third of the calories just aiming and chewing.
• You don’t have to skin, peel, slice, or dice these heavenly things.
• Did I mention I got six of them for $1.50?

So, ahh, Heavenly Apricot… I guess… you’re free to be digested? Oh, and you thought being innocent was going to get you off of death row!

(PS – Nevermind this supposedly innocent fruit can turn into a voluptuous dessert of apricot chocolate cake…)

Culprit: Barbeque Chicken Tostada.

Villainous Calories Involved: 921.

Partner-in-Crime: Tostada Shell, 90.

Pleads Innocent With: “It’s all Mr. Tostada Shell’s fault. If you remove the tostada and 3 oz. from your 15 oz. salad, you widdle me down to 545 calories–that’s almost half! I know, I know. Seems too good to be true, doesn’t it? I assure you, though, that 90-calorie tostada has been deep fried in extra oil and crisped to perfection so that it can stab at your arteries extra-sharp. Maybe if you learned some fucking portion control, you wouldn’t be here judging me.”

Alas, Wicked Barbeque Chicken Tostada, I find the calculations for your El Polo Loco form to be vague at best. I was looking for your big brother at El Toritos Grill when I stumbled on you and stared stupidly at how much blame you put on poor Mr. Tostada Shell. The blasphemy!

Of course, I certainly didn’t eat the tortita shell from my barbeque chicken salad tostada when I was at El Toritos Grill for lunch today–talk about making my stomach explode off of leaves, cheese, and funny-shaped beans in caramelized barbeque sauce–but that gives you no right to give misrepresentation for your partner-in-crime, Wicked Barbeque Chicken Tostada! What are you trying to do?! Trying to make us believe fucking barbeque is healthy or something?!

I think when I heard my seams popping from the more-than-lusciously-scrumptious food I ate at that Agora Churrascaria Brazilian barbeque this weekend, I knew full well what you Barbeque People were capable of…

Culprit: Bagel with cream cheese.

Villainous Calories Involved: 436.

Partner-in-Crime: Great Wall of Chocolate, 1,440.

Pleads Guilty With: “Surely you knew you were in over your head when you took a bite out of me. Even if you eat me with fat free cream cheese, you were doomed the moment you put my thick breaded center into your mouth. Why perpetrate me when you’re the one that is clearly guilty? Ahh, but I digress; I know my situation currently condemns me to the Villainous Calorie chopping block. I bet you enjoyed every morsel you ate, though!”

Seriously, Beastly Bagel with Cream Cheese. You’re killing me here. They give you out for free every Friday morning at work and all I can do is stare with watering eyes as I chomp into my tasty fruit breakfast, which thankfully today was a nectarine instead of a Sinister Banana.

I’d much rather go to my local P.F. Changs and split an earth-shattering 1,440-motherload Great Wall of Chocolate with my boyfriend than deal with the likes of you. Maybe if I eat the chocolate slowly, I’ll only consume a third of it, then it’s like having my calories for dessert instead of fucking breakfast. I mean, for crying out loud Beastly Bagel, people don’t even think of you as a guilty pleasure! They’re too busy running off, enjoying their damn Friday!

You might have the rest of the world convinced, but not me, Beastly Bagel with Cream Cheese. Except maybe on a Saturday visit to Brueggers. Dammit, I’m screwed.

Culprit: 8 fl oz Pepsi.

Villainous Calories Involved: 100.

Partners-in-Crime: Pepsi Throwback, 100; and Diet Pepsi, 0.

Pleads Innocent With: “Who cares if I’m advertised as an 8 fl oz portion at 100 calories, when all you idiots are drinking 140 calorie cans? Twelve cans a week? Well, it’s impossible to resist, what with me being 3 for $9. Yeah, I know that just took a bite out of the productivity of your stupid 3500-calories-a-week workout. I bring bubbly happiness to all. Who cares?”

I care, Pepsi Can. And let me tell you something, your Diet Pepsi friend is not off the hook, either. Zero calories? Hah! You’re still giving me that lovely insulin spike that is making my metabolism come to a screeching halt. And unless you are conditioned into every cell of my blood like a bad beer, you don’t taste the fucking same.

Pepsi Throwback is taking me out on a date this weekend, though. Sure, he’s the same amount of calories as all the other aluminum-canned jerks that have brought obesity onto America like a plague of locusts, but unlike the rest of you fructose corn syrup mongrels, Pepsi Throwback has the courtesy to use SUGAR AS A SWEETENER.

Some jackass says, “Boohoo, corn is a plant, sugar is a plant, you’re all falling for a gimmick.” You know what I have to say? Take your man-altered-mortified-sweetened-corn and go attend a Pepsi Can Anonymous session with all those Mr. Pepsi and Mr. Diet Pepsi rejects that are needing rehab while Pepsi Throwback overthrows the world.

Really, Pepsi Can? Have you become so frustrated with the situation that you’ve gone Transformers on us? Control yourself. Really, if we’re going to have some bubbly goodness that’ll inevitably kill us all, let’s at least do it the semi-natural way. C’mere, Pepsi Throwback. Pepsi Can: shoo, shoo.