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I don’t know if this is true…
.
.
But I’m really hoping it is.
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Baby Yoda cocktails? Fabulous. Telling me about them and not posting a recipe? Cruel.
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And since we’ve all had enough of the last election horror show?
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Wilbur is pretty stinking cute. And when’s the last time you said that about a presidential candidate?
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Poop cookies.
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Admit it, you know someone who deserves a dozen or so of those.
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Admit it, you need to laugh as much as I do.
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Yeah, I hate when that happens.
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I’ve never had the pleasure, but from the tone of the reviews…. I’m going to pass.
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Karen.
That bitch is trying my patience.
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Am I the only one who’s slightly freaked out by this…?
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Stop bogarting the Oreos fat boy. Christmas is about sharing….
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2020.
It’s the only explanation.
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What is it they say…?
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Revenge is a dish best served cold.
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Hmm. I’d have no problem with supply, momma red squirrel reproduces like a rabbit.
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Now I love me some biscuits and gravy… but no.
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And though I’ve been known to make a mean gumbo…. again, no.
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Squirrel ravioli? Can’t quite wrap my mind around that.
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While I admit they annoy me to no end, that image is a trifle disturbing.
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Fried squirrel heart on crackers with cheese? You don’t see that on many appetizer trays.
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Squirrel lard cookies.
Is it me…. or do they look like little nut topped turds?
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Heaven does exist.
And I found it at our local grocery store.
Heaven….
Who knew it was halfway down aisle 12?
I love it when I go grocery shopping and find a product that seems to be tailor made for me.
Witness River’s cookie heaven:
Cookies…
That taste like cocktails!
I was a little disappointed to find there was a bag inside the bag and how very few cookies there actually were….
But I figured that just meant they were extra special.
I was wrong.
So very, very wrong.
In fact… these cookies were not only horrible, but probably one of the worst things I’ve ever tasted in my life. And I’ve endured my MIL’s pot roast, so that’s saying something.
I mean Hell… it’s a cookie. By nature they’re flippin’ delightful!
How do you screw that up?
As I was bundling them up to throw away, I flipped over the package and noticed this:
Fruitcake.
This company shipped 12,000 pounds of the most atrocious baked good ever invented to brave, battle weary soldiers.
I know!
Hadn’t those poor men suffered enough?
Of course it does explain the low quality cookie standard and my severe revulsion to their product.
Maybe that’s the explanation.
The cookies were actually leftover fruitcake from 1943.
