Darrell sighed and reluctantly unlocked the door. Although the agent wore high-end Maui Jims, Darrell swore he could see a pair of azure eyes assessing his every move. “Home office said you’ve got an…emotional attachment to your, um, livestock. Would you like a moment with him before we go?”
Silence hung between the two men. The agent popped a Livesafer in his mouth. It often helped with his anxiety.”Look, Mr. Curry, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. The federal statutes dealing with verbal contracts are ironclad; I’m sure you didn’t intend to actually bet your ass…but you did, sir, and now the government is required to collect.” He considered Darrel’s forlorn expression and clapped him gently on the shoulder. “But I hope you’ll find solace in the fact that, um–” He consulted his paperwork. “–Churro the Burro will be drafted into military service. He’ll serve his country with pride.”
Darrell’s face brightened. Churro loved uniforms.
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Gentle Reader, in an attempt at making marginally better dietary choices**, I’ve been snacking my merry way through the various flavors of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers. I began, as one does, with the classic Cheddar bag and moved on to the Parmesan. There’s also a line of “Flavor Blasted” options, with intense names like “Slammin’ Sour Cream N’ Onion” and “XPlosive Pizza.”
**My extremely scientific research on this essentially came down to “These are crackers and they’re baked, so they HAVE to be a healthier choice than Doritos, right?” In a rare breach of protocol, I did not actually compared the labels until approximately 10 minutes ago. This is a story about how you should always compare the labels.
The crackers themselves were quite good–like more subtle Teddy Grahams. But the magic, Reader, sprung upon me when I rotated the bag and my eyes rested upon THIS:
Take a moment to appreciate the majesty. We have been given a two-part pun that doesn’t really make much sense when you’re overly pedantic about it, wrapped in a Dad Joke shell. It’s genius. It’s terrible. That fish is only wearing sunglasses so it can look smug when you’re reading its comedic contribution to the world.
Were I not already committed to the Pepperidge Farm Project, as it’s officially called***, I would purchase a bag based solely on its puntasticness.