Polar Bear Cookie.

O, how unfortunate is this Polar Bear Cookie.

At least fortune has shined momentarily. The Barista has rapped the tasty holiday pastries in plastic as to say:

"Dear Consumer. Get the hint? It's Saturday, and I'm bout ready to go home."

I can't blame her for that. But I can blame Starbucks for seasonally brilliant marketing. It's all most CHRISTmas and, most things are going to take on a jovial, but often nauseating, aura of chestnuts and pine trees.

So in line with the time Starbucks has made every item thematic, and upon seeing the multitude of unconquered delicacies a bit of glee, sprung up in me. All different names and all different colors. There's no doubt that they're using the normal half sugar-half milk combination as they do for everything else, but tonight I don't care.

The name is different. And you know what? I think it tastes a little different as well.


That was when I saw the Polar Bear Cookie. It was him and a couple of friends, neatly rapped upon a plate, protected from my stomach acids by a glass case.

"Is that a Polar Bear Cookie?!" I say.

"Yes. But we've shut the pastries down for tonight," says the Barista.

Dag. Nammit.

A moment passes. And the Polar Bear Cookie looks at me with a smug look of victory. However, he doesn't know that I'm a regular customer.

"You know I can't deny you." says the Barista as she opens the case.

I stroll outside as cool as the indifferent winds of November. No one was watching me, but I walked like the world had it's eyes on my every gesture. As I sat at the table the crowd scoots to the edge of their seats.

I pull the Bear. Out of the bag. He looks at me, although not as smug as earlier. His cute sugary ribbon blazons with red against his sugary white fur, and saliva rushes to my canines.

I BITE the Polar Bear Cookies' head clean off.

Wash it down with the taste of yuletide capitalism.