It’s been awhile since our last journal with the boy. For your amusement, Adventure with Spam.
Opening scene: the spam dinner adventure.
Pla-slrck-thud! The gelatinous pink loaf slithers from its can onto the waiting cut board. Our doubts are growing.
Walt Disney ate spam back in 1955. He was a nice man; he made the magic of Disneyland to make all people happy.
Charred iron skillets breathe heat into the air. An excessive blade slips effortlessly through the cube.
I’m not going to eat that. I want spaghetti-o’s with hot-dogs. I think they’re better for me.
A grotesque sight as the fleshy slabs dance on the iron’s blaze. Tiny beads of jellified stock rupture from the surface only to be pulled back onto the pan.
I will only try a tiny bite. Like this big (as he holds his first finger and thumb to measure a pea-sized portion).
The bacon aroma alleviates our fears. Even the girl looks calmer. The bricks sizzle and hiss in a familiar song.
Walt Disney died in 1955. He paid a thousand dollars to make Disneyland and then he died. It was sad.
Sunny eggs accompanied the hickory smoked steaks, tiny bites given to each child. No one complained, and no one asked for more.