I was able to actually wake up quickly from my Flexeril coma this morning thanks to a radio DJ who sounds eerily like Artie Lange. I already did the blind,  flat-handed pounding Hunt for Red October ritual with my alarm clock and hit it twice, possibly three times, and still fell back asleep. In my haze of warm Mr. Who snuggles I heard one of Artie’s one liners and he said:

“Imagine how good prescription cheese would be.”

This made me snort, then giggle, then fall back asleep for a millisecond, then start giggling again. Mr. Who finally wakes up enough to ask: “Wha-?” and I told my cheese obsessed husband what I heard, which makes me giggle some more, and he laughs too.

But that does get me thinking what an interesting movie it would make if people were selling black market cheese, making cheese deals in alleys, or buying marshmallow fluff and mixing it with cheese in their basement lab to make the ultimate dessert drug.

Food does make people feel better. I know a big, fat, ginormous lobster drowning in butter makes me feel great. I can’t afford it though. But what if my INSURANCE would cover it? I could go to the swankiest restaurant in town, order me 2 lobsters, and hand them my Anthem card instead of my credit card.

Chocolate has been proven to make people feel happy. It releases endorphins, which are “feel good” chemicals. Doctors would be prescribing chocolate instead of antidepressants. You could be sitting on the couch eating 5 pounds of Hershey’s and if the spouse even dares to look at you for having a chocolate mustache and wearing maternity pants when your youngest kid is 10, you can whip out the prescription.  “It says RIGHT here, that I am to eat 5 pounds of chocolate a day. Right. Here.”

People would take advantage, though. Someone will tell the doctor he needs Funyuns to cure his earache, or a 9-year-old will catch on and tell his mom that only Nerd Ropes make his joint aches stop.

And we all know someone that would probably say:  “Doctor, the only thing that has been able to cure the pain I have in my pinky toes are these dark chocolate truffles made only in a monastery deep in the heart of a Belgium forest.”

The hardest part about prescription food would be trying to keep it away from your family.  If my prescription food was chicken wings with hot sauce, we would have to send Mr. Who to rehab for stealing my meds.