Are you good at riddles? Can you see a pattern here? I hope not, because there is absolutely nothing significant about the arrangement of these slices of Wonder Whole Grain Wheat on my back porch. The purpose of the picture was supposed to be an illustration of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom being ripped off by The Man. As in Wonder Bread. Cheated me out of some dough.
However, The Pony is not good at taking direction. He is somewhat like his father, in that he has to do it NOW. RIGHT NOW! And can't wait until I explain my photographic desires. In fact, he snapped the first pics with his own phone, which has somehow lost all ability to email. So he had to gather the bread from the chicken pile and pose it again. Then take the photo with MY phone, as originally instructed. The Pony says this is the best picture.
I, however, had conceived the layout as one of six slices of whole wheat standing on end, with the observer peering through the holes like looking down a gun barrel. Or through a tunnel, for those of you who are not card-carrying members of the NRA.
As you can see, The Pony has not concept of rhyme. Nor reason. He scattered the slices all willy-nilly, regardless of sequence or hole size. Pardon me for not using irregardless. I know it is the preferred word of the blogosphere, much like the word conversating. I apologize for my literacy.
My point is...Wonder Bread tricked me into buying substandard bread. It's not like I can open each bag and rifle through the slices to make sure it does not happen again. Surely the Wonder Bread factory has some kind of weight scanner to make sure hollow loaves do not hit the streets. In all my born days, this is the first time I've bought a loaf of bread with such bubbleitude. It's not like I pulled this specimen out of my Bread Man. Do you know how messy a peanut butter and honey sandwich is on slices like these? Me neither. Because I'm not dumb enough to use those slices. That's why they are now chicken fodder.
The Devil and Wonder Bread are in cahoots.
3 comments:
I went through a spell where every bag of potatoes I bought were nasty in the middle! I would peel and then cut them and WOW! black rotten crap right in the middle! No clue when you looked at the outside. What was up with that? Of course, I do remember my Mother once opening a can of biscuits and finding a dead fly between the pull apart biscuits! Eww!
Those not-up-to-snuff slices WOULD have made wonderful croutons. Just a suggestion...
knancy
You must have bought those potatoes at The Devil's Playground. I refuse to buy any more there. No matter what kind, at least one in four was full of blackness.
Unfortunately, that was probably before the sue-the-pants-off-them days, when a fly in the biscuits was just extra added protein.
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Sioux,
Ma'am, I regret to inform you that your tree-hugging card has been revoked. First, you propose stomping our friend, the carpenter bee, thus depriving the world of fresh produce. Now, you suggest that holey bread should be turned into croutons, rather than serve as a tasty, wholesome treat for the free-range chickens. Egads, woman! What's next? Eating the un-black-spotted potato and scraping the peel into the trash can? While potato bugs bang their knives and forks on their little buggy table, stomachs all a-growl?
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