Thursday, November 27, 2003
Happy Freaksgiving!
When the pilgrims first made their pilgrimage to pillage Pilsbury, a great new tradition was started. Freaksgiving, a joyous day in which we all gather together to freak up the days of the ones we love the most. And it all started with a man named John Smith. I mean, Jim Smythe. Make that Gene Smoothe. Anyway, Gene Smothers was engaged to Joan Smatherson, but he was in love with the beautiful Disney character Pocahontas. Tragically, Pocahontas did nothing but refuse his every romantic gesture and Candygram. One day she had enough, and told him she never wanted to see his face again.
"But Pocahontas," he said, "I... I love you. I love you. I love you. How else can I emphasize it? There aren't enough typefaces in the world to describe my love for you!"
"Go back to Britannica, Johnny. I don't like your weird accent and mischievous yet charming casual dress style."
"Don't say no to me, Pocahontas. You are my one and only. You are like the maraschino cherry atop an otherwise extremely nasty soy-based dog food sundae."
"Why don't you leave me alone and bother somebody else? Go talk to my cousin, Orthodontas. She's crazy about British dudes."
"No! Never! I'll never love anyone but you! Besides, the last time I tried talking to your cousin, all she did was try to fix my teeth."
"Your teeth could use it. Now go away. Don't make me Taser you."
Poor Gene walked away, his dreams crushed into a fine powder, stirred into milk, and frozen into a creamy center of an orange popsicle. Not knowing where else to turn, he came to visit me, Bensaki, at my summer home in northern Greenland. Unfortunately, that was the day that the evil Bundt Cake Witch had turned me into one of those fortune-teller booths that dispense little pieces of paper with stuff like the future and advertisements written on them. So i couldn't help Gene when he came; i could only stand there in my ridiculous hat and dispense a little piece of paper. I watched helplessly as Gene read the recipe for my Cornbread Crabclaw Cranberry Crumbcake and interpreted it as a sign to help him win the heart of Pocahontas. He always was a superstitious one. If i could have spoken but one word of warning to poor Gene, that word would have been: "Indigestion." But it was too late. Gene headed into the kitchen.
But it seems that stories like this have an uncanny, irritating tendency to work out in the end. Gene's only real talent, it seems, was culinary, and he turned a potential vomit fountain into sheer bliss, winning the heart and tastebuds of his one true love. Freaksgiving was born.
The next day, i was turned into an orange juicer.
When the pilgrims first made their pilgrimage to pillage Pilsbury, a great new tradition was started. Freaksgiving, a joyous day in which we all gather together to freak up the days of the ones we love the most. And it all started with a man named John Smith. I mean, Jim Smythe. Make that Gene Smoothe. Anyway, Gene Smothers was engaged to Joan Smatherson, but he was in love with the beautiful Disney character Pocahontas. Tragically, Pocahontas did nothing but refuse his every romantic gesture and Candygram. One day she had enough, and told him she never wanted to see his face again.
"But Pocahontas," he said, "I... I love you. I love you. I love you. How else can I emphasize it? There aren't enough typefaces in the world to describe my love for you!"
"Go back to Britannica, Johnny. I don't like your weird accent and mischievous yet charming casual dress style."
"Don't say no to me, Pocahontas. You are my one and only. You are like the maraschino cherry atop an otherwise extremely nasty soy-based dog food sundae."
"Why don't you leave me alone and bother somebody else? Go talk to my cousin, Orthodontas. She's crazy about British dudes."
"No! Never! I'll never love anyone but you! Besides, the last time I tried talking to your cousin, all she did was try to fix my teeth."
"Your teeth could use it. Now go away. Don't make me Taser you."
Poor Gene walked away, his dreams crushed into a fine powder, stirred into milk, and frozen into a creamy center of an orange popsicle. Not knowing where else to turn, he came to visit me, Bensaki, at my summer home in northern Greenland. Unfortunately, that was the day that the evil Bundt Cake Witch had turned me into one of those fortune-teller booths that dispense little pieces of paper with stuff like the future and advertisements written on them. So i couldn't help Gene when he came; i could only stand there in my ridiculous hat and dispense a little piece of paper. I watched helplessly as Gene read the recipe for my Cornbread Crabclaw Cranberry Crumbcake and interpreted it as a sign to help him win the heart of Pocahontas. He always was a superstitious one. If i could have spoken but one word of warning to poor Gene, that word would have been: "Indigestion." But it was too late. Gene headed into the kitchen.
But it seems that stories like this have an uncanny, irritating tendency to work out in the end. Gene's only real talent, it seems, was culinary, and he turned a potential vomit fountain into sheer bliss, winning the heart and tastebuds of his one true love. Freaksgiving was born.
The next day, i was turned into an orange juicer.
