For more than a year, we’ve had protesters outside the FBFCR office. Apparently, there are some people who think the Federal Bureau of Foreign Culinary Relations is hoarding all of the strange snacks and not sharing them with those who are rightfully deserving of fresh rambutans. As it happens, we are quite generous with our foreign foodstuffs, as anyone within the inner circle of exclusive edibles will gladly tell you. Just the other day, a whole bag of fish crackers was dispensed at the dressage test. We even shared a few with one of the other dressage horses, since ours was still weighted down with Waffleloos.
Clearly these protesters don’t understand that we worked day and night to inherit the money we used to purchase Giant Chocky Brand Sticks, Tao Kae Noi Tempura Seaweed, Toothpick Auto-Case Birds, and GoJo Hands Free Adjustable Headsets. Not to mention the incredible burden of waiting for the dividend check to arrive so we can afford to buy some real food for the dressage horse.
Until recently, we’ve been able to hold off the protesters by using the Pink Whale Bubble Gun, but it ran out of bubble stuff and the personal shopper hasn’t been able to get us any more. She said something about having to take her kids to the doctor. Isn’t that what nannies are for?
With no bubble replenishment in sight, we had to seek an alternative method to keep those people at bay. The limousine service whisked us away from the rear entrance of the FBFCR office and delivered us directly to the local ethnic foods store. There we found what appeared to be the perfect protection against the pesky proles: Kraš Batons. What better way to fend off the hoi polloi than with a bunch of batons?
Upon returning to the FBFCR office, we opened the package and found it full of filled wafers. These wafers were quite tasty, and there was no shortage of fluffy filbert filling. Unfortunately, they proved less effective against the angry mob of protesters that was still seated on the front steps. Hitting them with the Kraš Batons only seemed to make them angrier, and throwing the batons at them failed miserably due to an absence of aerodynamics.
Finally, in a last-ditch effort to rid ourselves of the rabble (and finally let the dressage horse get some sleep), we hurled a whole handful of Kraš Batons at nothing in particular. This accomplished nothing in particular, but the Kraš Batons landed in quite an unusual pattern. They almost looked like letters on the ground, which appeared to spell “MMRDC GRSVNR”. We tried to capture a photograph of this, but the personal assistant who normally handles such things was busy polishing the solid-gold bust of yours truly that adorns the entryway. By the time he was finally finished with this task, the dressage horse had already eaten all of the Kraš Batons. In any case, this event was clearly a coincidence. It’s the sort of thing that probably happens every day, and we don’t expect to ever think about it again.