Rabid readers and Fat Boy's are tasty
Our story today starts with Hansel and Gretel and a cannibalistic witch. As you know, the witch was hungry and wanted to tempt, fatten up, and put the poor, billable hours non-compliant Hansel into the oven. Hansel and Gretel were of course smarter than the bean counting, finger bone measuring witch and walked away with all of the riches in the end. BID.
No that is not our main story, dear rabid readers, fat boys, not so! and what it is not about. Our story today is about a wonderful ice cream sandwitch (yes I know) known as the Fat Boy. Aren't word associations great? What amazes me is that a company named Caspers(not the ghost) in a completely unknown town, far far away from any kind man kind, not so far from the Dagoba System, where a little short like this talking guy old lives, and can be oh so very successful with a brand name, and an association with Fat Boy's. Make cents?
Probably not. So here goes. A number of years ago, yes, in a place far far and away, I worked for a small company in a little note nor long remember state called:
Colorado.
And as start ups go, one afternoon, we were all furiously, nefariously, feverishly working to stay in business when I announced to the team, "Let's go get a Fat Boy." An interesting guy on our team, from New York by the way, which is a suburb of Tatooine, a more retched filth of scum you won't find place, says,
"What's a Fat Boy?"
Let's go find out! We took the elevated Thor's Hammer (literally) about 100 floors down into the deep depths of the underground, to a place called, "the basement" and to witch in which parts the back deep depths dark well corners to well, "who knows what?", back of the hall, where we found, "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks"?
The cafeteria....
And their, not fair, but far from the cashed in register, we found that oh so wonderful, tasty, yet sweet, light, cute and fluffy, not Stitch like heavenly creation known as a Fat Boy.
So I bought a few and left.
The others, were still waiting by Thor's Hammer, they pushed the button to summon Thor, when the man from uncle (Mr. New York), there in the almost dark, says to me in his, almost gangsta sounding voice, leaning over, "Didz ya get em?"
So I showed him our long to heretofore, purchased recently, recently created creations, while admiring them from fun and fancy free, when all of a sudden, just then, the door to Thor's Hammer opens, out walks a man, well fed by wicked west witches of gingerly ginger breads past, and unbeknownst as well as unbeknown by, before, or afore mentioned bifold doors, and to either of them, our conversation, or the now mesmerized Gansta New York (because he was too busy admiring craning careening my creaming creamy creamery sugary delight), he (Mr New York), in a loud voice, proclaims to the world, in a voice even Shakespeare (or his stage manager), would be proud of, looking directly at the sandwich, and says?
"Now that's a Fat Boy!"