They would survive nuclear holocaust. At least, this is the urban legend that pervaded my childhood – a storehouse of Hostess Twinkies would keep us all alive long enough to find our way to the pocket of humanity left in some bucolic compound unaffected by our self-destruction. The yellow little cakes represented a permanent indication of our ultimate civility. Even if we couldn’t preserve our great buildings or the teetering amalgam of our races and beliefs, these snacks would long serve as a reminder of our great, if unsustainable, society.
