Pillsbury spokesperson Pop N Fresh died yesterday, at 71. In attendance at the funeral home were Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, and the Hostess Twinkies.
Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his career was filled with many turnovers. He was not considered a smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Still, as a crusty old man, he was a roll model for millions.
Fresh is survived by his second wife. They have two children, and one in the oven.
The funeral will be held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
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There’s a lunch wagon offering, “Filly Cheese Steaks” that I pass almost every day. Each time I pass it, I chant to myself, “Please let it be a misspelling! Please let it be a misspelling!”
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A man with six kids will always be happier than the man with six million dollars, because the man with six million dollars will always want more.
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After a worship service, a mother with a fidgety seven-year-old told me how she finally got her son to sit still and be quiet. About half way through the sermon, she leaned over and whispered, “If you’re not quiet, Pastor Charlton will lose his place, and will have to start over again.”
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Religion is usually a verboten topic for everyone at work – except for Larry. Recently, after he steered yet another conversation toward the subject, a co-worker whispered to me. “That’s Larry. He always has to put his two saints in.”
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After a flash flood had damaged their house and belongings, my aunt and uncle were forced to stay with friends. One Sunday, as everyone got ready for church, my uncle borrowed a suit from his host. The pants were too big, so my uncle said, “I’m going to need a belt.”
His humorless hostess shot back, “We do not drink before church.”
Archon's Den 
