Naked flapjacks await Senora Sticky.
Hardly ever do I dream about food brands. I dream of friends, former lovers, fire trucks, TV reporters who turn into horses, mundane tasks and endless numbers. I even dreamed about GW Bush one time, for God’s sake. But do I ever dream about knocking back a few drinks with the Pillsbury Doughboy? Fortunately, no. I wonder why that is?
But what a dream it would be to discover a syrup-ticious affair between Mrs. Butterworth and converted rice kingpin Uncle Ben! And then, a twist develops as it is discovered the syrup lady also has a thing going on with Betty Crocker on the side. Jumping Jesus — a brand name love triangle. How cool would that be?
I would like to dream of my confronting Mr. Peanut and asking him why he persists in using that stupid monocle. I mean, does he really have such severe problems with that one eye? And what about a dream in which the Keebler Elves run amok and pillage the Valley of the Jolly Green Giant after they set fire to their own tree house cookie factory? Then Jolly has had about enough that he can take of the spectacle and he accidentally maims Sprout when he comes down with a can of corn in an attempt to smash the cookie terroristas.
I’m just wondering why I never dream something of that sort. That’s all I’m saying.