I’m sure all of you have found yourself woolgathering. I tend to do it more than the average person. My imagination never really shuts down. It is always finding new ways to entertain me. This is why I find sleep difficult most nights. Once asleep, it is fine because I have the craziest dreams. I get to remember them most of the time. The problem with being a constant daydreamer is that you tend to get lost in your own head too much. No worries if you are by yourself and find a thought highly amusing. It’s a totally different story if you are in a quiet office and burst into insane laughter at random times. I’ve been known to do it so much that my boss overlooks me now. After eight long years of putting up with my shenanigans on a regular basis, she has gotten used to my weirdness. God bless her unending patience.
I was driving home from work today when I had the most delightful thought. Who would win in a death match among The Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, The Pillsbury Doughboy, and The Michelin Man? I find my random thoughts save me from wanting to throttle everyone who shares the road with me during rush hour traffic. What works, right? Anywho, there I am….I just have to take a moment to laugh right now. Doesn’t it seem like every back woods red neck with no teeth starts every story with “There I wuz…”? This is always followed by some story of Bigfoot or Aliens wanting to probe their nether regions. I am beginning to think all of the beer guzzling they seem to be fond of has killed that one vital brain cell that stops them from being completely obsessed with alien anal probes. That was horribly cliché of me but I have unfortunately met several of these individuals in my life and they all seem to fit that description to the letter.
So, where was I? Oh yeah the death match. Alright, to do this right we need to size these fellows up. We will start with The Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. He is the only one out of the group that you can literally devour. My little one and I have discussed this at great length after watching The Ghostbusters I. She is convinced that she could wrap her entire body around one of his legs and just eat her way through. To her, if he doesn’t have any legs, he can’t terrorize the city. I cannot argue with this logic. Plus, it is very amusing to picture her eating her way through a sixty story marshmallow man’s leg. I doubt she would succeed, but I also know that she would not be the only one to try it. Ole Stay Puff might have tremendous size to his advantage but it is a con to be so damn delicious.
Now, let us put The Pillsbury Doughboy under our collective microscopes. Is he edible? I mean, he is pasty white. I don’t believe the dude has been put in the oven yet and raw bread dough is gross. He is rather miniscule in size as well. That might work to his advantage. He could easily hide if things get too rowdy for him. To his credit, he does seem to arrive with offerings of cookies and various bread delights. I’m afraid his downfall is just too obvious. You guys have to admit that a talking, walking pile of raw dough that has a tummy tickle fetish is just plain bizarre. Don’t let that dainty laugh of his fool you. He is getting his miniature dough balls off every time someone pokes his malleable belly. Where did you think the icing for cinnamon rolls comes from? Please tell me you didn’t think that was just powdered sugar and water. I would love to tell you guys this is the case but nope. The secret is in the sauce.
This just leaves The Michelin Man. I’ve seen those commercials where he saves innocent drivers from bad weather such as snow, ice and rain. He slings those tires like there is no tomorrow. Where exactly does he keep them suckers? No one ever asks this question. I’ll tell you where. The dude is throwing his own body parts at these poor unsuspecting fools. Don’t you find it mighty convenient that he always seems to be there to rescue them from the terrible road conditions? Of course he is! That sucker is out there with his Weather Machine 5000 from Mad Rubber Scientists Inc. He hurls water and sludge at everyone just so he can “save” them with his “new tires” that he just rips off himself. Don’t believe the tires are made out of his body, huh? Where else would he get them? Unless he has them stuffed up his butt, they have to come from somewhere. His sash is magical, you say? Hmmm mmmm. Fine. He pulls the lifesaving tires from his magical sash of holding. Alright, but I still say he controls the damn weather.
Here’s the problem with my imagination. I’ve just set up the basic stat sheet for each of our contenders only to have an even more wacky thought pop into my head. What if, during the match, just as a winner was about to claim the title, Mr. Clean arrives on his flying magic eraser and takes them all out! Didn’t see that one coming, did you? Truth be told, I did not either. It was a SHAZAM! kind of moment. Of course, this got me thinking about those obnoxiously useless Scrubbing Bubbles that do nothing but leave a nasty film of scum in their wake. Why not throw those buggers into the fray? I just see The Stay Puff Marshmallow Man standing their wishing for the days he could be roasted by a proton pack. The Pillsbury Doughboy is trying to tease belly pokes from ladies in the audience while bribing them with chocolate chip cookies. The Michelin Man is just making it rain on the whole place and throwing random tires at everyone. The Scrubbing Bubbles are giggling like loons while sliming the place. And finally, Mr. Clean is rocking in the fetal position in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably. It’s mayhem I tell you!
Want to know the really crazy part of this story? I had that incredible tangent while stuck in traffic waiting for the light to change. Knowing me, I was probably making all sorts of ridiculous faces in the process. I am sure that the people in the cars around me must have thought I was nuts. Sitting in traffic makes you nuts so I might as well enjoy myself. Besides, all that was playing on the radio was the same lame commercials I have been hearing all month. If I have to hear that car salesman going on about fires and sales and needing your cars now, now NOW one more time, I might just join Mr. Clean in his corner of woe is me.
That reminds me, what are your thoughts on alien anal probes anyway?