TALES FROM THE CLIPPED - "PANTS IN A BOX"
The other morning a certain CB awoke to the Toad Man telling him that his breakfast was waiting for him on the adjacent bed. Having run himself beyond the point of exhaustion the previous night at "The Shake", Señor CB simply did what he does every morning when the old man tries to wake him - mumbled something unintelligible and burrowed a little deeper under the covers. Had he only known what wonders awaited him, he may have sprung to attention.
When he had finally awoken to the world, executed a few strategic scratches, and proceeded to unwrap the day's first half-stick of gum, the eldest tadpole at long last turned his attention towards the mystery box.
Now, some background is required to understand the CB thought process at play here. Whereas in most households, a box that bears the Banquet insignia may actually contain a firsthand foodstuff of some vintage; however, The Pond is - in the words of overpriced Mexican swill - "miles away from ordinary". A decade ago, a tidal wave of change washed across the kitchen cupboard at The Pond. Swept away were most recognizable household staples like Uncle Ben's, Hamburger Helper, and Green Giant; their replacements bear euphemistic names like Millville, Corntown, and Casa Mamita (all generically delicious Aldi fare). Thus, a rational CB had no choice but to deduce that this box - lacking any modicum of private label street cred or the Toad Man's beloved antioxidants - had obviously arrived from an alien source.
So whither the origin of this package? It appeared to be bursting at its seams (had it contained a food product, botulism may have served as a plausible explanation). As the mental gears gradually lubed themselves up for another day and neurons started firing, Señor CB began to recall the Toad Man's giddiness as he detailed having found a pair of pants online for his son to wear to work (Editor's Note: said offspring has not purchased a new article of work attire in nearly nine months of messy employment; Mr. Toad has graciously patched every hole that has sprung up in Señor CB's battered slacks). Total cost after shipping: $13 - not bad at all for Geoffrey Beene. And they were due to arrive any day now. But can a pair of 34 x 32 slacks fit into...? No way. And yet...
Figuring a fried chicken box not to be worthy of any more of his neural transmissions, Señor CB finally endeavored to open the box. Sure enough - pants (and neatly folded, at that!).
The staff (of one) at CB Enterprises, S.A. is proud to crown Scott Beaudoin of Mechanicville, NY as the first ever CB of the Month. for his "outstanding achievement in the field of excellence", otherwise known as creatively cheap - possibly vacuum-compressed - shipping. What's his prize? Not sure yet, but he can rest assured that whatever it is, it'll be neatly cram-packed and sent via Swanson Hungry Man Express.
When he had finally awoken to the world, executed a few strategic scratches, and proceeded to unwrap the day's first half-stick of gum, the eldest tadpole at long last turned his attention towards the mystery box.
Now, some background is required to understand the CB thought process at play here. Whereas in most households, a box that bears the Banquet insignia may actually contain a firsthand foodstuff of some vintage; however, The Pond is - in the words of overpriced Mexican swill - "miles away from ordinary". A decade ago, a tidal wave of change washed across the kitchen cupboard at The Pond. Swept away were most recognizable household staples like Uncle Ben's, Hamburger Helper, and Green Giant; their replacements bear euphemistic names like Millville, Corntown, and Casa Mamita (all generically delicious Aldi fare). Thus, a rational CB had no choice but to deduce that this box - lacking any modicum of private label street cred or the Toad Man's beloved antioxidants - had obviously arrived from an alien source.
So whither the origin of this package? It appeared to be bursting at its seams (had it contained a food product, botulism may have served as a plausible explanation). As the mental gears gradually lubed themselves up for another day and neurons started firing, Señor CB began to recall the Toad Man's giddiness as he detailed having found a pair of pants online for his son to wear to work (Editor's Note: said offspring has not purchased a new article of work attire in nearly nine months of messy employment; Mr. Toad has graciously patched every hole that has sprung up in Señor CB's battered slacks). Total cost after shipping: $13 - not bad at all for Geoffrey Beene. And they were due to arrive any day now. But can a pair of 34 x 32 slacks fit into...? No way. And yet...
Figuring a fried chicken box not to be worthy of any more of his neural transmissions, Señor CB finally endeavored to open the box. Sure enough - pants (and neatly folded, at that!).
The staff (of one) at CB Enterprises, S.A. is proud to crown Scott Beaudoin of Mechanicville, NY as the first ever CB of the Month. for his "outstanding achievement in the field of excellence", otherwise known as creatively cheap - possibly vacuum-compressed - shipping. What's his prize? Not sure yet, but he can rest assured that whatever it is, it'll be neatly cram-packed and sent via Swanson Hungry Man Express.
posted by Ryan at 10:33 PM
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