I was inside this cab when I saw this huge white guy with a chef's cap wanting to share my fare - I punched the back of the seat and screamed "Let him in, I have so much to tell him", but the driver wasn't from America and he took off like a flash in the pan!
What you DO NOT KNOW, but I will tell you, is that my poor children, especially Ruby, have been subjected to my double talk, my fun-punning of the English language for too many of their young years. They were RAISED on my abilities to use words - for them, it has been pure torture. For me, it has been a challenge to come up with more words and more double meanings that can be contributed to my on-going obsession with the baker himself, Mr. Pop n' Fresh Pillsbury! (This one's for you Reu)
When I first meet Pop n' Fresh, he was no more than a pasty. His father, a sourdough from Long Island, and his mother, a rather prominent ladyfinger calling herself "E.Clair" were simply too delicious not to marry. They found each other sufficatingly delightful...making little Pop was never a question, it was a matter of perfect timing, perfect settings - everything had to ROLL just right. When it did he was such a little muffin! I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, and wanted only to take him home and keep him TOASTY in my kitchen. He's lived with me for years and he has one job - to torment my kids.
I remember the first joke my little friend told my son. "Hey Reuben", Pop n' Fresh called from the pantry "What's my dad do for a living?" There was no answer from the scared little boy trying hard to hide from the white image of a half-baked cook - "He's a cobbler!" Hahahahahaha, came the high-pitched laugh from the kitchen. Hahahahaha, he continued as he told another joke. "Hey Reuben" and he waited, but still no answer. "Why am I only 6 inches tall?" Pause - wait for it "I have a little shortening going on inside of me!" Hahahahaha
OH, I can see my boy's older eyes rolling now, but at age 4 he was a puddle of water in the livingroom - I would take my little 6 inch rubber guy out of the pantry and hide him under Reuben's pillow at night sometimes. He'd find him and I'd hear the baker flying into the wall with a thud! "Don't hurt me" I'd call out to Reuben in the night in the best Pop n' Fresh voice I could custard-up! "I can pay you a ransom in the morning, right now I'm a little short on DOUGH" and then he'd throw the poor toy out the window! I'd find him in the morning all marked up with magic marker, death signs covering his body. Its no wonder my son is as tough as he is today - can you imagine having to deal with this sick twisted piece of wheatgluten for years?
Well, all I have to say is this: Reuben, if you die in the WAR - Pop n' Fresh is coming to the funeral my friend, and he's going to do his best to get a RISE out of you. You'll TURN OVER in your grave from what he has to say to you for all the times you thought you BEAT him - you'll GLAZE over with embarrassment when he's finished...oh, Reuben just one more thing - what do they call Fort Wainwright in the heat of August? BAKED ALASKA!!! Gotcha!