Thin Mints
There are times I wish I could send myself a small box through time, the opening of which would release a hidden mind-control powder and cause 5th-grade-me to devote every waking moment from then on to the study of physics. Then, having accomplished so much by the time I exited high-school that they would have to invent new superlatives merely to catalogue my sophomore year, I would be invited to MIT where I would begin the study of theoretical massless particles. Graduating at the top of my class by a Valles Marineris-scale gulf, I would be courted by world-class physicists who sought the international acclaim of having me do my doctoral work under them. Together we would seek to unravel the mysteries of an enigmatic and perplexing substance not yet comprehended by science...
...and then maybe -- just MAYBE! -- I would begin to understand how, under the fissioning sphere of mostly-hydrogen that warms this rocky spinning ball upon which I stand, I , after having eaten a (temporarily) filling dinner and following that with half a box of Thin Mints, could possibly be significantly hungrier than I was when I initially sat down to eat!
GAH! Stupid anti-cookies!
...and then maybe -- just MAYBE! -- I would begin to understand how, under the fissioning sphere of mostly-hydrogen that warms this rocky spinning ball upon which I stand, I , after having eaten a (temporarily) filling dinner and following that with half a box of Thin Mints, could possibly be significantly hungrier than I was when I initially sat down to eat!
GAH! Stupid anti-cookies!