Wilford Brimley Eats All the Snacks
This is a fictional joke story written by DaveTheUseless. Don't take it seriously, fellas.
I had just gone home from walking the dog. The dog didn't want to go for a walk but I said tough luck you're going for a walk. "Please don't take me for a walk. MacGyver is on and it is my favorite show, and it actually has some pretty messed up moments that not a lot of people know about. Ruff!". Nope, too damned bad. I grabbed the leash and coaxed him outside with a box of beggin' strips I had been munching on. The truth of the matter is, I myself am a dog, and we all have a canine instinct of sorts. We like food and smelling the flowers and taking shits in our neighbors' lawn.
So when I got back from home and my dog gave me the middle finger for not considering the value of his needs in relation to mine... I heard a shuffling noise coming from the kitchen. I was scared. I considered calling the cops but then I remembered that I was a cop and had been kicked off the force for selling my police badge for sweet cans of Alpo. They wouldn't listen to me. I was alone. Except for my dog.
"Nope, fuck you, I'm outta here." Old Shags McMaxamillion flipped me the bird again and strutted out the doggy door with sass and a tail wag. It was just me now. An icy cold man with an icy cold heart, alone, with his thoughts about being a domesticated wolfkin.
Suddenly—I heard a voice! Coming from the kitchen! A chill went up my spine from thinking about what could have been going on with my freezer. The mysterious intruder I could not see as of yet had at least provided me with a vocal greeting of sorts. "Hello there. I'd like to talk to you for a few moments...". I considered leaving but I knew my now former man's best friend was outside waiting to bite me and he had rabies (no vets were in service because of COVID-19) so I was better off taking my chances with the robber. I reached into my Paw Patrol fanny pack and pulled out a nerf gun. Hey, it was better than nothing. I tiptoed into the kitchen entryway, pistol in my hands, stealthily hoping to catch the intruder off guard, and then—
I saw him. I shrieked in horror. It couldn't be. But it was. There he was. For real this time.
My deceased grandfather.
No, wait, that wasn't him. It was Wilford Brimley, the famous actor from commercials about testing supplies! I was scared. "I want to talk to you for a few minutes.", he repeated. He motioned to the chair at the opposite side of the table. I had no choice but to sit down.
"You're all out of ice cream, and apple pie." "I do not eat ice cream or apple pie", I retorted. "Also, I sure would love to know what you're doing in my house." "I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes." Ohhh, I knew where this was heading—he was trying to sell me something! Well, not so fast! I pulled out my nerf gun and pelted him in the face with a blast of multi-colored plastic balls. Highly realistic blood, gore, and milkbone-shaped dog treats exploded from Wilford Brimley's forehead. Wilford Brimley was dead.
I considered calling the police, but there is no police. I sat down in my study, reading the newspaper and whistling Dixie. Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. I glanced out the peephole. It was the police! "We'd just like to talk to you for a few minutes", they stated, calmly, misleading me. Well, that was so nice, I never get visitors—no, wait, it was obviously a trap! Old Shags McMaxamillion... how could you!?!? I ran into my bedroom and closed the door. I jumped under the bed and shuddered. Could this be how it all ended for me? I shrieked in horror as I realized I left my nerf gun on the study room table, next to my copy of Men are from Mars Women are From Venus and emergency pack of sour grape apple big league chew. My scream was interpreted as an invitation to break and enter, as I could hear the sounds of cops slamming my door and them sniffing around for evidence. It was either now or never! I pressed the emergency button under my bed to activate secret weapon X. My closet door opened, and out popped my ex-wife. Just kidding, out popped nothing. It was a button that opened the closet door. I got up and ran into the closet. I was now trapped in the closet.
"Hey, wait!", one cop exclaimed. "Why, yes", the other pig stated, snorting and chortling. "This is indeed the corpse of the late Woody Woodpecker antagonist Wally Walrus." "No, stupid! It's Wilford Brimley!" "Oh. Yeah. I knew that." I could hear the freezer door open. "The guy's all out of ice cream and apple pie." "Well, screw this john then!", officer B retorted. "We'll just have to find a more charitable home worth investigating." "Ruff", replied Old Shags McMaxamillion the Twenty Second, the police dog who corruptly removed me from the force for not listening to his needs. I could hear the sound of the officers picking up my door, hammering and nailing it back on its hatch, and leaving my home never to be seen or heard from again. Finally! Some peace and quiet.
I returned to my study. I sat down, smoked my pipe, and read a couple of Garfield comics. Suddenly, I had an intense craving for dessert. I tried meditating and it simply wouldn't go away. "Guess I gotta serve Mr. Tummywumpkins before it's too late", I ironically murmured to myself in sarcasm. But it was too late. It was far too late. Too late for me, anyway. I was too late. You're too late. We're all too late. Woof.
I opened the freezer door. I was all out of cool whip. I attempted to custom make my own cool whip out of cottage cheese, mayonnaise, and expired ketchup packets, but it was no use. It simply did not taste like cool whip whipped cream foam topping. I was going to die of hunger.
Or was I? There was only one thing to do.
"Sugar. I need sugar. I need...". Yes, indeed. The light bulb went off in my head. A gigawatt of high voltage rock n' roll. And who was I to judge? I was just an ex-cop with an insatiable hunger for dessert. I bent down and scooped up my meal. "High sugar." I...
I stuck Wilford Brimley's bloody brain matter into my mouth, took a bite, and chewed. "Hey, this is pretty good.", I affirmed out loud between bites. Munch munch. Crunch crunch. Mmmm. Tasty.
Whoops. I made a grave mistake. Literally. Pun not intended but may as well have been.
"You forgot your testing supplies", zombie Wilford Brimley muttered from the floor as I died from an overdose on a severely diabetic man's decomposing brain tissue.
I am in cannibal hell now and it is no good. My lack of caring about others sent me here, so I tell you this as a warning. If you ever get hungry, take your dog for a walk to the local organic food store and get some carrots and raisin cakes or some stupid shit like that.
I let out a warning. Warning: Don't ever let life pass you by.
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