Breakfast Math

Margarine pats are falling from the sky. Chicken Little must be having pancakes this morning.

It’s a miracle! Miracle Margarine, that’s what it is. The only miracle would be if I could do this sort of math at breakfast. I mean, doesn’t this remind you of those awful, horrible word problems that always begin “If two trucks are driving in opposite directions and one is going 20 miles and hour faster than the other… blah blah blah” – yeah, wake me up when you’re done.

So we have 36 pats more per pound, and two extra sticks, and the same calories but it’s more whipped and – well, I’m the one that’s whipped now. I’m exhausted!

Oh well – I guess I see what they mean. Only why must they be so tiresome about it? I don’t care how many more pats I’m getting. I don’t even want that many. They’re falling in my goddamn Bokar coffee!