Off Campus

27 January 2005

An Explanation As To Why I Ate The Last Cookie

Dear Sir or Madam,

This letter is to inform you that I, Oliver Pendersanden, have, against the good advice of my medical and legal council, eaten the last cookie in the package. My wife had previously verbally advised me of possible repercussions of consuming said cookie (including, but not limited to, both cranial and testicular trauma), but I, being of sound mind and delicate temperament, proceeded of my own free will to both chew and swallow the cookie in question.

The reasons I had for undertaking such a risky endeavor are many, but for the sake of brevity and on the advice of my Magic 8 Ball, I present to you, the Boy Scouts of America, the strongest forces that led me to that fateful ingestion.

On the day of the "cookie incident", I was trying to clean the house while my wife was taking her weekly Kamikaze lessons. I found that the cookie package was taking up precious space in the cupboard and contained only one (1) remaining cookie (which heretofore shall be known and referred to as "the cookie" or "Archie The Cookie"). I reasoned that by eating the cookie I would be able to fit more condensed milk and model rocket fuel into the space the cookie package took up, and could correct the off-kilter Feng Shui of thekitchen that had led to four (4) sprains and a burnt squash. So I ate the cookie.

Besides, I was afraid that the cookie had "gone bad" (not "bad" in the sense that it had started to hang out with the wrong crowd, wear leather and refuse to wipe its feet, but the "bad" that results in late nights, cold sweats, and lavoratorial terror), and didn't want my wife or young children to eat it and suffer the horrors that would most likely ensue. Simply throwing it in the trash was certainly an option, but to be sure that no animals or hobos unknowingly consumed it (and would then, in turn, be consumed BY it, not to mention embalmed and entombed), I shouldered (or, more appropriately, STOMACHED) the burden myself. So I ate the cookie. Luckily, it was indeed good. SINFULLY good.

Besides, I had experienced a vivid nightmare three Wednesdays prior in which the Cookie Monster was chasing me through a Woolworth's with a large, chocolate-stained scythe, growling the phrase "C is for Cookie" over and over again. This phrase had been trapped in my head for three solid weeks, and it seemed logical at the time that the only way to erase my mental tape loop (shy of endless renditions of "The Name Game") was to eat the cookie. So I ate the cookie. "C is for Cookie" was unfortunately replaced in my head by "I Shot The Sheriff". (How I managed to remove that from my mental play-list I am not allowed to discuss at this time, pending the outcome of that trial.)

Besides, as I entered the kitchen earlier that day I came upon a small flock of Communists hiding under my sink. I attempted to shoo them out into the backyard with a broom, but when I tried, they became belligerent and brandished broken bottles. They explained that they had almost completed their plot to overthrow the government (of where they would not say), and all they needed was one (1) more cookie to complete their Anti-Hibachi Ray, which they would use to disrupt summer fun across the land, and thereby bring our way of life to its knees. Well sir (or madam), I am an AMERICAN. I would not stand idly by and watch these COMMUNISTS destroy all the fun and cheap thrills we work 40+ hours a week for, partially removing the joy of flame-grilled meat products from the weekend landscape. I had no choice but to do what Thomas Jefferson would have done in a similar situation (give or take the part about the hibachi). So I ate the cookie, thereby thwarting their nefarious and ill-conceived plan. Once again the spirit of freedom and charred beef struck down the Communist threat.

And lastly, as a side-note, I must confess that I likes them cookies.

Please take all of the above into account before you render your decision. I feel that while the eating of the cookie in question may have been in questionable taste (being that it *was* a Thursday), I feel that this brief flirtation with Old Scratch should not be held up as a blanket example of my abilities as a sailor or fry cook, and will hopefully not deter you from allowing me to borrow further books from your lending library.


Oliver Pendersanden
Third In Line to A Copy of Queen's Greatest Hits