The Ex-'Burgher: You want some of this milk?

You are an AFC playoff contender! You are also it is almost Christmas! Thus, you are also a cookie! We will now learn about you!

Lemon Squares:

There’s no real getting around it: I should not be here. I’m not really a Christmas cookie, just a novelty treat that works better in late summer, when, you know, lemons are in season. Yet for some reason, here I am, sticking it out through the winter months, sitting among snowmen and reindeer, and I’m freaking CITRUS based. Not even I think this makes sense.

...I am the New York Jets.

Baklava:

I'm a staple around here, but I am pretty tough to make: There's a lot of layers to my construction, and when they're done right, I'm a complex cookie that comes together to create a simple, satisfying taste with a lot of texture. My baker is lauded most years for how well I'm put together, how I take the basics and make them work.

This year? Not so much. Something's awry with the recipe or the construction, and I'm not the same old baklava that everybody loves. I just don't have that flavor that everyone is used to.

For awhile, people were sticking by me, taking bites, hoping that I might turn out to be what I usually am. There aren't many of those people left, though, and the ones who are are basically retarded.

Maybe I will be better next year.

...I am the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Wreath Made of Cornflakes and Green Shit:

Let's face it: I'm pretty disgusting to look at. I mean, for God's sake, I'm covered in green goo that could easily be the love juice of Oscar the Grouch.

I have no idea why anyone would bring me to a party, but it seems like I make it in almost every year anyway. What's more, I'm not even sure where I came from, as if my recipe is from some obscure city that doesn't seem like it should be producing cookies notable enough to be mentioned in a space like this. And yeah, it's nice that I get to be on the plate with all kinds of other delicious treats, but I always pale in comparison to the cream of the crop. No one eats me, and those little Red Hots on top of me are disgusting.

...I am the Jacksonville Jaguars.

Tiny Cheesecakes Made With Splenda:

I was a pretty damned good cookie until recently. I was never overwhelming anybody or anything, but I had a really solid foundation of crumbly crust goodness, straight-away cheesecake, and even some sass with the cherry.

And then came the Splenda.

Now I just don’t taste right, and it’s all because my baker decided it would be great to listen to a bunch of people who were bitching about putting on pounds, that they didn’t want the same, awesome recipe that had taken me so far last year. Well fuck them, because now they’re getting what they deserve. Also, fuck Splenda. I suck now.

...I am the Denver Broncos.

Tiramisu:

OK, I'm not traditionally the kind of dessert that you would classify as a cookie. I'm not built on the same structure as a classically good cookie, and I sometimes get brushed out of conversations about potential best cookies. But I am fucking good.

I can attack you with awesomeness in several ways—with my wafer, my cream, the fact that I am made of booze—and make you think about how great I am.

The booze is actually so consistently good that you may end up being lulled to sleep, forgetting that I am, in fact, completely great.

I am, however, covered in cocoa powder, which often associates me with coughing and choking.

...I am the Indianapolis Colts.

Those Peanut Butter Cookies with the Hershey’s Kiss in the Middle:

I’m here every year. You know I will be right in the thick of this cookie plate, and it’s because at my center, I am built around one solid cog, a hunk of chocolate that will save me from whatever weird variances bakers might make to the base of me. Oatmeal? Go for it. The hunk of handsome chocolate will save it. Chocolate base? I’m sure the chocolate cookie base will blend well with my chocolate, which is made with goat’s milk. Clearly, I cannot be defeated. I am the result of genius construction. Stop underestimating me.

Did you know that chocolate is an aphrodisiac? No wonder your wife likes me so much.

...I am the Patriots, you idiot.

Snowballs:

People are constantly talking about how good I am. And why not? I look the part of a great holiday cookie, what with the resembling snowballs and all. My outside layer is sugary and sweet and chewy and delicious.

But here’s the problem: I’m only half good. Sure, my outside layer is as strong as any on the plate, but my insides are horrible. Sure, diligent eaters will slough through the whole of me, but most will take a quick bit of the outside and leave my rotting crappy middle on the side of their plate while more well-rounded cookies move on to be completely devoured.

...I am the Baltimore Ravens.

Nut Roll:

Like Tiramisu, I’m not really constructed around the normal properties that make up a quality cookie: I’m not that sweet, and—except for that swirl pattern—I don’t look good enough to eat over the long haul.

But what’s great about me, and what draws many eaters to me, is that I’m NOT the Snowball. Sure, I’m only half good, too, but at least I don’t fucking murder people.

...I am the Cincinnati Bengals.

Classic Sugar Cookie Cutout with Frosting:

I seem so completely solid that you'd think, yeah, this guy's a can't miss: I look like Christmas, I taste like Christmas, I am freaking SHAPED like classic Christmas. I always draw a big, loud crowd. No other cookie packs the house like me after it leaves cookie college.

On the other hand, it's not like I'm a particularly complex flavor, and I sort of fall apart on the outside, where nobody seems to ice me. Most reasonable adults wind up with something a little more complex, a little more adult. I sort of fall apart under scrutiny.

...I am the Kansas City Chiefs

Amaretti:

I am completely delicious in every way: I'm chewy, I'm crunchy, I'm sweet, I'm not too sweet. Basically, I am perfect. Unfortunately, no one notices me at first because I don't LOOK awesome. And those who do notice me stay away because I'm adorned with pine nuts, and they've been sitting on the shelf for a few years, and everyone thinks they're not going to be as good as the old nuts.

When they finally do get around to taking a bite of my deliciousness, word spreads fast. Soon, everyone is talking about how great I am, and how I may be the best cookie in the bunch. Nevermind that the person baking me, while totally awesome at making batches for himself, can't help but burn the shit out of me when the batch is for something important, like a wedding.

...I am the San Diego Chargers.