Impaling a foil-wrapped Kiss on a skewer over my sacrificial fire of oleander twigs and Crisco, casting a protective rectangle of ground almonds and glass, and raising my kitchen athame to the East, I summon the grave-seasoned wraith of Milton Snavely Hershey to arise and smite his corporate heirs for the offense of shutting down ScharffenBerger and Joseph Schmidt Chocolates in Berkeley, which they acquired with predictably low and dishonest motives a mere couple of years ago.
May they be cursed with waxen palates and bad teeth.
May they be cursed with chronic respiratory infections and copious snot production for ever and ever.
May the taste of honest chocolate turn to the taste of shit in their mouths instantly for the rest of their miserable lives.
May their children change their surnames out of embarrassment and use their endowments to subvert their parents’ fondest dreams.
May they suffer undiagnosed diabetes for at least three decades each.
May they wake up tomorrow morning face-down in frozen cowpatties on any of the Hershey School farms that still have cows.
May they then be tied upside-down to the dummy sleds for the football team and forgotten there after practice is over.
May they be visited by ambitious vultures as soon as the weather warms up in Pennsylvania.
May those vultures be scared off once or twice and, in leaving, vomit up their noses.
This curse I call down in the sacred names of Saint Julia Child, the Blessed MFK Fisher, the Reverend Gary Nabhan, the Provisionally OK So Far Mostly Michael Pollan, and all the angels of chow and spirits of spirits in this world and the next.
I have spoken.
Posted by: Ron Sullivan