Yea so I was walking back from class the other day and decided to check the mail. We get random people’s stuff all the time, apparently the addressee can’t dictate his/her own address to the sender. But this one was different, as you’ll see.
I’m terribly sorry that I bought you red velvet cake instead of butterscotch like you asked. I went to Kroger fully intending to purchase said butterscotch cake, but a series of unfortunate events (none of which involve Lemony Snicket in the slightest) forced my hand. I arrived at the store and was immediately greeted by one of those old people at the front entrance. You know, those people who can’t perform simple physical tasks because of their age and are thus delegated to the front of the store. A woman who I pegged to be at least 95 years old beckoned me in with a whispered “Welcome to Kroger,” which immediately cast a pall over my trip. I’d rather not be greeted by someone who looked as if she could snuff it at any given time; can you imagine the issues that I would’ve dealt with if she had fallen over when I came in? I’m not even CPR Certified! I cringed at the sound of her voice and gave a weak smile as my thank you got caught in my throat. Anyway, I made my way past the Pork Rinds and Cheese Puffs (this should show you my level of dedication to your cake, I love those things) toward the dessert aisle. As I turned the corner into Lane 13 and gazed down the long lines of Duncan Hines, my eyes were immediately drawn to the catch phrase highlighted in yellow on every box: “So Moist. So Delicious. And so much more.” I was obviously attracted to these cakes as opposed to the others. Why wouldn’t I be? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want a cake that was both moist and delicious? And that’s not even starting on the “so much more.” I wanted to find out what that “so much more” was. However, as I scanned the shelves for the butterscotch mix, I couldn’t find one box. Not a single one! As it became increasingly evident that I wouldn’t find this cake mix by myself, I enlisted the help of an employee, a young lad by the name of Geoffrey. Aside from the fact that this young man had the name of Geoffrey, which in itself is awesome, he had a very likeable quality about him. He seemed to hate his job, which I do as well, and it was plain to me that he had tired of replacing boxes of Jujubes and Junior Mints. So, I called him over and we started to search. After about 5 minutes we gave up, and I asked him what he would recommend in lieu of butterscotch. As Geoffrey was a fairly large boy (he was pretty fat), I trusted him implicitly as an authority in the world of dessert and fanciful eats. He immediately began recounting his encounters with various pies and cakes, taking a good 7 minutes to explain to me how his Aunt Bertha once had an allergic reaction to a Funfetti mix and how he had once choked on a piece of Devil’s Food that he had attacked “with great zeal.” I had to stifle a laugh at this point, as I thought that it was quite ironic that he had choked on “Devil’s Food.” I disregarded most of his rant, as it contained not only unusable information regarding his own eating habits but also various family tendencies and birth dates. Amid the endless babble, however, I noticed that he seemed to regard the “Moist Deluxe Red Velvet Cake” as his personal favorite. Indeed, after his talk had subsided, I asked him specifically about this red velvet cake mix. He actually told me that he wouldn’t let me leave the store without a box, “that’s how GOOD it is.” I think he was joking, but I decided not to take the chance of incurring physical hostility with a boy who looked like he had 5 square meals a day, and I rolled the dice with the red velvet. It was “Moist Deluxe” after all, which I was sure would contain some of that “so much more” that Duncan Hines was talking about. I had no idea that you were allergic to red food coloring or that you despised Funfetti frosting. I still take an issue with this; it’s wholesome and delicious. However, I will take full responsibility for my actions and am thus apologizing to you via this letter. I just want you to understand that my actions, while regrettable and somewhat foolish, were influenced by the clever advertising staff at Duncan Hines and boy salesman Geoffrey. I thought you would appreciate the moist qualities with which every Duncan Hines product is imbibed, and I falsely trusted the unwavering advice of a boy 25 years my junior.
I also want you to know that I have taken further action against both of the involved parties. I wrote an angry letter telling Kroger that Geoffrey had stolen boxes of candy and donuts from the store on several occasions and was selling them for profit to his support group at the Church. This, of course, is completely false, but I needed to get back at that sneaky bastard. They bought it! He got fired! You don’t have to thank me, which I’m sure you will, for this. I mean I’ll take a thank you if you want to give me one. It would be the polite thing to do after all. Also, I want you to know that I have written several displeased emails to the people at Duncan Hines complaining about the inappropriateness of their slogan. I have opened 17 new Yahoo! Mail accounts and sent an email from each to make it look like there are 17 angry people when there is in fact just one. I’m pretty clever when it comes to that stuff; I got my gym teacher fired in 7th Grade when he made me run extra laps in class one day. I just told everyone he walked in on me taking a piss and watched. They bought it. That’s all beside the point; I didn’t write this letter to brag about my cleverness and skill. I can supplement that information if you want me to; I’m shopping around some book ideas, all of which deal with said skills. I just wanted to let you know how truly sorry I am. I just bought some tickets to see “Grizzly Man” at the theater this weekend; I would be honored if you would accompany me. I’ve already seen it twice, but I love it too much to forgo an opportunity to see it again. Let me know.