Veteran Pillsbury spokesman Pop N. Fresh died Saturday 6-5-21 of a severe yeast infection He was 71.
He was buried Friday in one of the biggest funerals in years. Dozens of celebrities turned out including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, and the Hostess Twinkies The graveside was piled high with flours, as longtime friend Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, describing Fresh as a man who "never knew he was kneaded".
Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a smart cookie, and wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model to millions. Fresh is survived by his second wife. They had two children, and... one in the oven.
Cellphone Warehouse last night when I received this text from my wife:
And as I eagerly rushed home, I couldn't help but wonder...what the hell does "ternative" mean?
All the organs of the body were having a meeting, trying to decide who was in charge.
"I should be in charge", said the brain, because I run all the body's systems, so without me nothing would happen".
"I should be in charge", said the blood, "because I circulate oxygen all over, so without me you'd all waste away".
"I should be in charge", said the stomach, "because I process food and give all of you energy".
"I should be in charge", said the rectum, "because I'm responsible for waste removal".
All the other body parts laughed at the rectum and insulted him, so in a huff, he shut down tight. Within a few days, the brain had a terrible headache, the stomach was bloated, and the blood was toxic.
Eventually the other organs gave in. They all agreed that the rectum should be the boss.
The moral of the story?
You don't have to be smart or important to be in charge... just an asshole.