In Favor of French Fry Literacy
I love ketchup. I like to have french fries (or freedom fries, if you insist) with my ketchup. I like to squeeze a pool of ketchup into a huge bowl for my french fries in which my french fries can frolic. The french fries have told me that they appreciate picnics with their french fry families by the ketchup swimming pool, but have asked me to stop consuming them and their relatives.
Of course, I listen to each generation of the french fry families, and have taken their to their grievances to heart. I have since posted a sign at the ketchup swimming pool that reads: “After swimming in ketchup, please shower to remove all ketchup, or risk being consumed by the management.” Many french fries did not seem to heed the sign, and were consumed. I soon realized that french fries can’t read, but that they do pass down an oral history from generation to generation.
In french fry folklore, I am known as the dualistic diety, the creator/destroyer “Mr. Choppers.” I am a true believer that no french fry should be left behind when it comes to education. So, I have started a school called “Mr. Choppers’ Holy French Fry English Literacy Immersion School” to ensure that they can read the signs posted on the ketchup swimming pool. After immersing themselves in the English language, they can read the sign, and make an educated decision as to whether they want to immerse themselves in the ketchup swimming pool without showering afterward, and risk consumption by the management. I know. I know. My efforts in french fry literacy make about as much sense as tobacco companies running PSA’s telling people not to smoke. . . but, what the heck. It’s tough love. I only eat them because I love them, and I want them to learn. I get a really warm, fuzzy feeling and believe that everything is worthwhile if just one french fry learns from another french fry’s mistake. Plus, I work up quite an appetite running that french fry school. Who cares if I eat the stupid ones?