No more Twinkies. No more Sonny Eliot. It was a pretty lousy Friday.
If anyone informs me that Twizzlers, Mountain Dew and Al Ackerman have also punched out, then I will go into a deep depression I may not recover from.
I know I am getting older. All I have to do is look in the mirror and step on the scale. Signs of erosion embrace me.
I loved watching and listening to Sonny Eliot. I love the way he manufactured words, Daniel Webster’s unabridged be damned.
Snow and fog were snog. Rain and chilly were rilly. Freezing drizzle was frizzle. Fog and muck were, well, forget it.

He'd announce the overseas temperatures, too. In a version of French not embraced by any Parisian. He’d give the high temperature in Moscow and singlehandedly re-launch the Cold War through his botched Russian. He would tell us what the temperature in the Upper Peninsula town of Engadine was and include about three or four more syllables than necessary.
His jokes were so corny, they could’ve been popped. Sonny Eliot made us laugh, and who does not need that more often? He died Friday at his home in Farmington Hills. He was 91.
I’m going to have to go out and toast Sonny’s passing with a Twinkie. That was another untimely death recorded when Hostess Brands Inc., the maker of Wonder Break and Twinkies, announced it would liquidate because not enough striking employees returned to work by a Thursday evening deadline set by the company.
"We deeply regret the necessity of today's decision, but we do not have the financial resources to weather an extended nationwide strike," said Gregory F. Rayburn, chief executive officer. "Hostess Brands will move promptly to lay off most of its 18,500-member workforce and focus on selling its assets to the highest bidders."
I’m mourning Sonny. I am mourning Twinkies. Would it be bad form to eat Twizzlers at a funeral?