A man walked into a candy shop. He couldn’t find broccoli anywhere. After asking an employee, he soon discovered the horrifying reason and subsequently threw a tantrum in the gumballs. Moments later, he regained his composure, i.e. was carried off the premises by security, and raced to the nearest bus stop. (He had wanted to inquire about carrots and meatloaf, too, but convinced himself that the answers would be equally disturbing.) The man then caught a ride to the airport, booked an immediate cross-country flight, landed five-and-a-half hours later, boarded a train, traveled forty miles south, hailed a cab, oared a gondola, mounted a donkey, and arrived at his mother’s house, just before noon. Busting into her living room, the man shouted, “You lied to me! Broccoli isn’t candy!” “No, it’s not,” his mother replied patiently, “and those pills you take aren’t vitamins.” The man’s heart sank even further; he could feel it in his kidneys. “Is there anything else I should know?” he asked, trembling. “Yes,” his mother said, “it’s probably time I taught you how to use a telephone.”
© 2014 Tony Vicory.