A Cracker in Question
Shane Sanford

Look, Animal Crackers,
Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t think for a second you’re fooling anyone. We see right through your adorable circus animal shapes, your little cage-box with the little string handle on top for easy transport. Yeah. We see right through you. You’re transparent, crackers. It’s your name: Animal Crackers. I don’t like that name. "Cracker." It’s deceiving. I mean, how often do people drown you in steamy minestrone as they do your Oyster cousins? Never, I’d hope. And what about cheese? Do people stack Gouda or Pico or Provolone upon you and enjoy you with a tumbler of Chardonnay? No. At least I don’t think they do. That would be weird. The point is, that’s not why we eat you. That’s not why we love you. You know it. Let’s face it, never will you be found floating amongst noodles in chicken broth, but you’re the only "cracker" besides grahams (who shall not remain nameless [that’s right, grahams—this applies to you, too!]) to be preferred with milk. How about a different drink menu for your consumers—a different “partner-in-crime” to help you slide down that human esophagus? Yes. Milk. I mean, when’s the last time somebody dunked his or her Saltine into a glass of 2%? Is it the pinky-up sophistication in the name "cracker" you seek? Or are you just evading the immature childish "cookie" image? Either way, it doesn’t matter because the aforementioned “cage” contradicts that argument. It’s unsophisticated, childish and cute, but you know what? It’s badass! It is. Here’s a great example: I was so cool when I lugged your little cardboard prison box out of my Ninja Turtles backpack at 11:30 AM on the first day of school. Lunchtime, and mom told me when she dropped me off that she packed me these new crackers and a hot thermos of clam chowder to dunk them in. At first, after I had the two mismatched items in my hands, kids gathered, but then they started to inspect the innards of my little cage-box and the sweet, crunchy cakes within.
"These are good," one said.
"Yeah they are," exclaimed another. "But it doesn’t taste like a cracker." He chuckled at the little cage-box of delicious entertainment I held by the little string. "It even says it’s a cracker," he said. "Are you gonna dunk those in your soup? Eww, that’s gross! It’ll ruin the taste."
"Yeah," a voice said. "Don’t do it."
Now, my mom put some effort into collaborating this lunch of mine, and she went out of her way to see that I had a pleasant one, and I was grateful. No ignorant kids were going to talk about my mom’s lunch-packing skills like that, so I thought that if I stood my ground as a decent person who actually ate Animal Crackers with soup regularly, then I might gain enough leverage in the situation to come out emotionally unscathed.
I dipped a lion’s head into the steamy white sea of my thermos lid and proceeded with the dripping animal to my deathbed of a tongue. I chewed and chewed, and the kids all laughed and called me stupid and weird. Least to say, I’ve never been more humiliated. Never.
I hate to say it, but Goddammit, you are a cookie! You’re not an Animal Cracker, but you’re an Animal Cookie! Kids love you. Hooray for cookies, right? You’re sweet and delicious, lumpy and round, not flat and salty. I wish you would come to your senses and realize that. Please. Learn to love yourself for who you are. It’s important because it allows you to open up, and by opening up, you free yourself of tiresome lies

and grueling arguments. I’m begging: quit lying to us, your fans. We love you. But most importantly, quit lying to yourself, because only you can control your own destiny.