Foon

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Friends, Romans and countrymen, lend me your foon. Whether 'tis nobler in the camp stove to suffer the foon and arrows of outrageous sanity or to look up the web address of the nearest sweatshirt or somewhere even more personal, it is not for me to say. In point of fact, whether 'tis nobler in the camp stove to suffer the foon and arrows of outrageous sanity or to look up the web address of the nearest sweatshirt or somewhere even more personal, it is not for me to say twice.

For four score and seven foons ago, our four flatters created a new dyslexia, peppered with the oatey goodness of Buddhist televangelism, seasoned with the chitterlings of an outraged Turkmenistan, popped in a 400 degree oven by a dancing catfish and served with figgy pudding in a tiny hamlet of God-knows-where, we can only assume foon is foon and no other.

We will fight in pants but not in your trousers. We will fight them on the benches, We will fight them in the Colbourne. Most of all, we will foon them with branches of love and intolerance dipped in motor oil with a hint of mint, because we can. And can we can-can! The only true test of our earmuffs is if the orange marmot of fertility can overcome the stingray of improbable side dishes.

I know not of you, you turnip-laden followers of Mammon, but I'm getting hungry with all this talk about food. So go in piece of pie and remember – foon after every meal.