Otis Spunkmeyers

As I sat down to my lunch of Code Red Mountain Dew and Otis Spunkmeyers chocolate chip muffin, it occurred to me that it must not be a mere coincidence that such yummy, yummy muffins were kneaded by Mr. Spunkmeyers. No. There must have been a story, which might tell very much like this...

Long ago there live a boy, whose parents were very, very mean. While his parents kept normal, unobtrusive names, Robert and Louise Trott, they foisted upon their only son a truly wicked and absurd name, Otis Spunkmeyers. As soon as he was allowed to play with others (which was far before most children) he was incessantly tormented for his name. What is your name, the children would ask. "Otis, Spunkm..." but the end was invariably drowned out by silly girlish laughter and the thumping of crude boys’ fists. No one liked Otis, and how could they? It is doubtful that anyone so named Spunkmeyer has ever survived the ripe old age of three (do you know any Spunkmeyers?) They either die of shame, or of older boys beating them for the crime of possessing such ridicules name.

Otis's parents wanted it this way. They enjoyed seeing him come home stale and empty, having all the shit knocked out of him on a regular, or hyper-regular basis. You see, that is why his parents named him so cruelly, and thrust him into toddler society when he was much too young, and the other children could easily pick on him. Every day they would ask Otis, "How was your day?" Only to rejoice at a sniveling and barely audible reply.

Otis was not without any luck, however. He not only learned to speak far before his colleagues, but also how to run. And run he did. Around the jungle gym, through the swings, up the slide, down the monkey bars and into the classroom, where only the mocking scars of his teachers and peers could lacerate him.

But on he lived. And while a truly tortured life, he outlived the normal life expectancy of children named Otis Spunkmeyers by 5 fold (the avg. O.S. only lives to 17 months you see). And while 7 is not a very old age, it is if you are so named Otis Spunkmeyers and have incredibly cruel parents who force you to begin school at far too young an age. You see, every day Otis would come home from school, beaten and bruised, and every day his parents would rejoice. But, after a time they had hoped that the bullies would finish the job. But alas, Otis was too fast. So they skipped him, into a class of even bigger bullies. But yet again, he outran them. So they skipped him, and skipped him and skipped him some more, but he outran all of them. So by the ripe old age of 7 years and one month, Otis was already a Junior in highschool. And it is there that he found his true salvation--HomEc.

Ms. Casey was a kind and gentle woman, from the heart of east Dublin. A heart of gold and a culinary might to match. Well, when battered and bruised (but not quite dead) Otis Spunkmeyers entered her class she knew what she would have to do. She approached him and exclaimed, "No ther boi, wy d'thay beat un yoo so?" It took a moment for poor Otis to parse the thick accent, but at last he responded, "They think I deserve it, for having such a stupid name." "Wel then." Ms Casey quipped, "wee wil ave tu doo sumptin aboot that."

And faster than you can say, "Paint my suspenders red, and call me Zarathustra." (which if spoken by a Welshman, could take five to nine years) Ms. Casey demonstrated to young Otis how to whip up a batch of her famous Chocolate Chip muffins and use them in defense of the nasty, nasty bullies. "No uze theze, an' no won 'ill evr think yu stupid ageen."

Otis was skeptical, but that day, in during Dodgeball, all the nasty boys were poised to bludgeon poor Otis Spunkmeyers. But before they could say, "Paint my suspenders red, and call me Zarathustra." Otis offered them some of his delicious Chocolate Chip muffins. Well, as you must know by now, Otis Spunkmeyers's Chocolate Chip muffins are the best source of fat, sugar, carbohydrates, calories and Mmm Mmm Good, this side of Baton Rouge. Who could hate Otis after eating such yummy muffins?

After the boys had their fill, they were too plump and jolly to be inclined to harm neigh a hair on the poor boys head. And even if they had wanted to throttle poor Otis, they could hardly run in such a condition.

Well, as you can imagine, Robert and Louise were neigh too pleased. They forced Otis to bake his yummy yummy muffins, until they burst--and burst they did. All their anger, rancor and wrath splattered their small town of Dussilvontrapvonschnit, and it tasted sweet, like Otis's yummy yummy muffins.

And that is why, to this day, his muffins are still known by his name.