Flour Pouer

I don't pay a LOT of attention to stuff.

Sometimes it takes me a while to notice things that everybody else spotted ages ago.

(Did you know there are DRUG references in Scooby Doo!? I know! Crazy, right!?)

So it wasn't terribly surprising that the bag of flour The Missus sent me to fetch sat on the counter for a couple of days before I finally took a good look at it.

Day 1:

Went to the store with a list. Came back with everything on it.

Including this bag of flour. Yessir. Right there.

My work here is done.



Day 2:

Bag of flour. Right where I left it.

Boom.

Everything still A-OK with The Universe.



Day 3:

Yessir. That sure is a bag of flour all ri---WHAT THE SHIT?!

SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK!

THAT'S A GODDAMN BABY WITH A GODDAMN KNIFE!!

Look, I'm not entirely sure how flour is made -- I have a vague notion there's a fair amount of sifting involved -- but I'm almost 100% certain that it isn't made by buttery cherubs carving up phone books with hunting knives!

"Heckers: Tastes so good, you'll swear it was dangerously manufactured by children!"

And while we're on the subject, if you MUST carve up a phone book with a hunting knife -- and I'm not altogether convinced you must -- never cut TOWARDS yourself! That's just tempting fate. You're practically begging to lop off a minimum of three of those stubby little sausage fingers.

Pretty sure it was Henry Ford who said that.




Till next we meet ...