In the spirit of thanksgiving, I would just like to say that I am ridiculously grateful for a package I received on Friday. It looked like this:
I was curious. Very curious. I opened it up and found this card.
I became MORE than curious. I pulled away the paper and found this:
It cannot be. It simply CANNOT be an entire box of...
Turns out, our very dear friend, Margaret, heard about the horrible lack of decently gross canned chili in the state of Pennsylvania and rectified the situation. To convey the deep seated joy and gratefulness which Silas and I feel towards said angelic being, I would like to share with you a poem I composed.
To That Angel, Margaret
No more shall I call you Marge,
Or Maggot, or Mags or Mark.
Nor shall I compare thee to a slug
Or a woman with no heart.
For by a gift of love and friendship
Your reputation has been cleared
Your name has become hallowed
And your person is endeared.
For ever after upon consumption
Of chili mac, that most glorious food
Your name shall be blessed repeatedly
With every mouthful chewed.