I’ve never been a big dessert guy, save the occasional slice of key lime pie - the proper stuff with the white filling, mind you, not that neon green imposter. But every now and then my sweet tooth kicks in. Today, for example, a Payday bar just sounded really good.

Now, despite the heavy emphasis on peanuts, let the record show that a Payday bar is not health food. It never has been and I was aware of this before parting with my 75 cents. The rest of the ingredients in a Payday include sugar, eggs, palm oil – tropical oils are bad – and a shadowy substance called “carrageenan.” I’m not sure what the last one is, but it sounds like a new Porsche. In any case, I would bet it isn’t squeezed from raw beets.

The fine folks at Hershey, makers of the Payday, don’t seem to trust my judgment or knowledge of the major food groups, in this case “that which comes from a vending machine.” Inside the bar’s wrapper was the legend, “Candy is a treat. Please consume in moderation.”

While processing this news flash and reconsidering my normal dinner of a dozen Kit-Kats washed down with a pint of marshmallow fluff, I started to get annoyed. Who on earth needs to be told to eat candy in moderation?

I do, apparently.

As innocuous as it was, the unnecessary hint from Hershey was the latest in a long and bewildering series of attempts at legislating personal responsibility. No longer content with the old standbys of tobacco and alcohol, the minions of the Nanny State have fanned out, seeking new targets. The next villain, as many predicted a few years ago, is fast food and its insidious consort, trans fats.

Trans fats are the gastronomical bogeyman du jour: artificial fatty acids that add heart-clogging flavor or shelf life to everything from French fries to donuts. And warning labels, such as that on my candy bar are no longer sufficient. New York City is considering legislation banning trans fats. Following this example, a senator in my home state of New Jersey proposed the same.

Now, in a state almost comically renown for corruption and runaway taxes, the focus on fast food showed a poor sense of priorities. This is the same state that just passed a tax on gym memberships, of all things. In a rare show of outrage, voters flooded this senator’s office with nasty phone messages.

Angry voicemails, however, are not likely to deter the forces of the Nanny State. Thomas Frieden, Health Commissioner for New York, declared, "It is a dangerous and unnecessary ingredient. No one will miss it when it's gone."

But who says it won’t be missed? Some recipes will certainly have to change. Maybe mom’s fried chicken won’t be as crispy, or those donuts at the local bakery won’t taste the same? Heck, maybe someone wants to do a shot of trans fat just to make a point or win five bucks from a buddy?

Whenever one of the anointed decides that it is “unnecessary” for us to consume, own, or use anything that is currently legal, our collective bristles should rise. How can a handful of people presume to make that decision for 300 million?

It is also worth pointing out that the stage is set here for some thick irony. In an effort to promote public health, the Nanny State would ban trans fats in food. People with a fondness for, say, donuts might be led to believe that donuts are no longer nearly as bad for you as they once were. It doesn’t take a trial lawyer suing over “light” cigarettes to see where this one might lead.

And so the vicious cycle continues. People have been conditioned to believe that there are no choices in life, only deceptive advertising and addictive food from which they must be saved. Why bother getting up for a jog or brisk walk when there’s a marathon of “Alice” on Nick at Nite? It is far easier – and in some cases profitable – to blame that daily bag of Oreos for one’s health problems. If only we had known in advance that “double stuffed” wasn’t good for our national waistline!

Please. Oreos are not to blame for our collective weight problem; counting Playstation as a form of aerobic exercise is.

Indeed, the Nanny State has officially moved down from the servant’s quarters, kicked mom and dad out of the house, turned off the TV, and locked me in my room with no supper.

Fortunately, I keep a Twinkie in my nightstand for just such an emergency.