News Flash!
Beware of this food porn creeping into your local food store. Spotted today was FlatJacks, an innocent looking addition to your diet, promising to make life easier and in two flavors: Original and “BarBQ.”
All you need is a toaster and about 5 minutes of your time, and all your fowl desires will be met!
Chicken from a toaster! What next? Will pigs fly?
When asked, the chief of police said: “FlatJacks is not to be trusted. He will lay your waist, and leave you with nothing to crow about. We have one of top detectives on this and he will get to the bottom of it, and then we will lay out the facts and seek prosecution of those trafficking in this chicken s&*^t operation.”
Psychiatrists are warning that what FlatJacks has to offer could be habit forming. Said one: “It’s almost magical, what FlatJacks is promising. ‘Chicken from your toaster!’ Who ever heard of such a thing? Pure fantasy! It would be as if I said if I had enough feather dusters, I could fly.”
Even one Republican Presidential candidate has weighed in, saying: “FlatJacks is free market capitalism at its finest. We politicians used to promise a chicken in every pot. We can now promise one in every toaster! That’s progress.”
Asked if he had tried one, the politician coughed and clucked as if to clear his throat and then referred the question to his aid.
When asked about FlatJacks, the Democratic candidate said he would form a commission to study the matter, and take that commission’s conclusions under advisement.
One local preacher took no time in condemning “this abomination to the very soul of Christianity.” Wiping away sweat as he spoke outside on the church grounds where an outdoor dinner and preaching was taking place.
He continued: “Young folks today do not know the true meaning of dinner on the grounds. In my day, the men dressed in their best Sunday clothes and women wore skirts and dresses, and often wore bonnets or hats, and they brought their best homemade fried chicken. It was a little friendly competition to see who had the best. Now, well now, look around here.” He waved his arm toward his brood. “They come in summer shorts – men and women – I say, and the women, well some of them wear the scantiest of things, and bring KFC chicken, and don’t even bother to take it out of the bucket. Now, now they will be bringing these FlatJack things and demanding we have toasters outside and long extension cords, and rows and rows of toasters. This will become one big stick it and click it dinner. Stick it in the toaster and click the lever down. Stick it and click it. This is Satan’s handiwork, I tell you. Satan’s handiwork.” In the distance a roster crowed for a second time and the preacher broke down and wept.
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