What's he that wishes to eat? My
brother Jordan? No, my fair brother; If we are mark'd to die, To do our liver
loss;and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of cake. God's will! I
pray thee, wish not one slice more. By Jove, I am not covetous for carrots, Nor
care I who doth feed upon my plate; It yearns me not if men unbutton their
belts; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet
sweets, I am the most offending soul alive.
No,
faith, my brother, wish not a man from Minnesota. God's peace! I would not lose
so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from my plate For the
best food I have. O, I cannot eat more! Rather proclaim it, Jordan, through my
host, That he which hath no stomach to this feast, Let him depart; his passport
shall be made, And skittles put into his purse; We would not dine in that man's
company That fears his fellowship to dine with us.
This day
is call'd the feast of Junk Food. He that outlives this day, and comes safe
home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of
M&M’s. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil
binge with his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Junk Food Day.' Then will he
strip his sleeve and show his coronary scares, and say 'These wounds I had on Junk
Food Thanksgiving Day.'
Old
men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What
things he ate that day. Then shall the sweets, Familiar in his mouth, Snickers,
Doritos, Kit Kats. Be in their flowing cups of Pepsi freshly rememb'red. This
story shall the good man teach his son; But we in it shall be remembered- We
few, we happy few, we band of siblings; For he to-day that raises his
cholesterol with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so fat, This day shall
plumpen his condition; And gentlemen in Minnesota now-a-bed Shall think
themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles
any speaks That ate with us upon Junk Food Thanksgivings day!
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