Milk's Inbox

My Dearest Milk,

Over the past few minutes, I have found that I am nothing without you. I thought I was a great sandwich, but in the shadow of your liquid volume, I have found that I have nothing to offer. I am dry and sticky. I am not half the food that I am with you. You wash me down, leaving the best of the taste I have to offer. Oh, Milk, I cannot survive without you. Those days when I go without seeing your foaming white beauty, I am limp and sad. But when you are with me, I feel like a whole new sandwich! I love you, Milk, and I never want to go another day without you.

Fondly, PB&J



Oh Milk,

I cannot begin to describe my life without you. I come out of the oven, hot and gooey, and extremely uncomfortable. You are right there waiting for me. I would burn the mouth if not for you. You bring out the best in me. I have shown you nothing but loyalty and faithfulness, dear Milk. I do not go out with Water, or Lemonade. Because I know that we are meant to be. I know it. My dark facial features with your pale, fairness. We are quite a pair, no? Let's keep it that way. You are more than a friend. You are a soulmate.

Love, ChocolateChipCookie

Hey Milk!

Buddy, I just want to tell you how much you mean to me. I'm sort of a hard and crunchy character, but you soften my edges. My dry sense of humor and your great-all-around personality- we make one great team! I love it when you and I and all our other friends like Cheerios and Raisin Bran and Lucky Charms and granola get together and bond in one big bowl. I think you're just plumb nice milk!

Your friend, HoneyBunchesofOats

Milk:

Be at the counter tomorrow, 8:14 PM sharp. We'll need a one and a half cup for the muffins.

The Muffin Team Leader, Flour

P.S. Your paycheck will be sent to you by the end of the month.

Dear Milk,

I had a really interesting time on our date last night. I think you are a really great character and you have a lot of potential in life. But quite frankly, Milk, I don't think you are I are going to work out. I didn't feel any real connection, you know? I hope you feel the same way. I don't mean to hurt you, honestly. It's just that this really doesn't feel right. I'm sure we'll both find our one and only, one of these days. I wish you the best of luck in your life, Milk.

Sincerely, Carrots

MILK,

Get off our back, man. We're already fine and then you come in and mess up our pure delicate taste. Coffee likes being black. Tea likes being strong. What's up with you? Your cold white liquidity is not welcome at the hot drink counter. Leave us alone.

Coffee & Tea

P.S. Hot Chocolate would like us to tell you that if you come within one foot of his mug he will make your life terrible.

M

It’s not everyday that your casserole is intelligent enough to speak to you. It’s only once in a blue moon that something like this happens:

(see in the Middle of the picture?)
If that small bit of sauce conglomerated on the side of the glass pan in the shape of an M is not communication, I don’t know what is. Granted, I don’t actually know what my casserole was saying to me. Perhaps it meant the first letter of my dad's name. Perhaps it meant M, in reference to Judi Dench’s character in James Bond. Perhaps it just meant M, as in the 13th letter of the alphabet. Perhaps it meant M, as in, “Mmmmm… I taste good”. Or maybe the casserole just didn’t get a chance to finish the word. Or the sentence. Or the Monologue. Maybe the casserole wanted to warn me of something, wanted to send me a Message. A Message that the world is Manic, full of Murderers, Make-up, Marauders, Mammograms, Mistakes, Misplaced affection (not to Mention Misplaced keys), Manipulation, false Masculinity, Manga, Mid-sized sedans, Monsters, Manners, and Mix-ups. A Message that it’s a Mad, Mad world and that I should Make My way to the nearest exit. To which message, dear casserole, I Must agree. But I think I must also give the casserole the benefit of the doubt. It could have been trying to say something nice. After all, the world also has Marvelous things, such as Mothers, Mud, Mansions, Mountains, Disneyland, Measuring cups, Malmö, Mayday, and Maps. If my casserole was trying to say something, it Must be something important. Which is why I am going to say that the casserole did mean, M, as in Judi Dench’s character in James Bond. As a good friend, I am going to listen to my casserole. And so now it is time to watch Quantum of Solace. Magnificent!

Blueberry Bog

Blueberry bog... a bog of many dangers. Many blueberries go in... all come out changed berries. One such blueberry was named Friar. Friar lived in a bag in the freezer. It was a cold life, naturally. He lived with his fellow blueberries. They talked amongst themselves and Friar, always the philosopher, questioned the way of life in the plastic bag of blueberries. His friends did not approve of his curious mind and they were very relieved when, one day, the bag was taken out of the freezer and Friar was taken out of that bag. Friar was relieved as well. He did not like being frowned upon. He would rather be smiled at. Friar was dropped into a bowl of pancake batter. Back then, it was just a Batter Bog. It wasn't so bad. The other blueberries were upset. What was this weird mush sort of thing? They squrimed around and that was not a good thing, because their blue insides eked out and turned the creamy batter blue. And when the blue eked out, so did the antioxidants. Hmmm... Perhaps, thought Friar, this bog is like one of those bogs in Scotland and other places where bodies are preserved like mummies in the peat. Their hair turns red yet is perfectly preserved. Friar thought about that with giddy anticipation, until he realized he did not have hair. As Friar contemplated what this bog might do to him, he felt himself being lifted up in a... what's this... a measuring cup? Then he hit the griddle. Sizzle... Friar was warm all of a sudden. The batter was pulling together. Uh- he couldn't move... he was preserved in a pancake. And Friar remained in that pancake for many a minute until an archeologist, or, so he assumed, unearthed him with a silver pronged utensil. Then he was lifted up, and eaten.

Face Number 1

This was the very first face. I was eating one of those chocolate ball things and I bit in and looked and hey! There was the face, complete with teeth in the mouth. He is a Cyclops but I like him all the same. After this face, I began finding more and more and more. So, really, this little guy was the start of it all.

Note: I used a pencil to make the little dot in the eye, but that was the only thing that I altered. There still would have been a face without it but I felt like the pencil dot emphasized the eye.

Sprinkle Hunt 5: The Final Piece

The end of this journey is near. You can feel it in the wind. It puts a spring in your step and gives you a light heart. When you reach the blue container again, you know exactly what to do. Pushing off from the ground, you jump up and flap the walnut wings. It's a long flight up, but you reach the peak. You see it, what you knew you would see. The FLOUR FLOWER.

You see that it is an inscription in the flour, done by the indigenous people of the kitchen. They seem to have a great artistry. There is a message on the side of the containter. "Partake of the flourous fruit of the flour flower, and use it only in your greatest need." Well, 'greatest need' seems to describe your situation. You scoop up some of the flour and stuff it in your pocket. Then you jump off the peak and fly done, lightly hitting the counter. Now what? Hmmm. You sit down and think, leaning your head against the eye of egg. And you see something in the crack... You push your eye up against the crack and look. WHAT IS THIS???? OH NO!! You see the culprit of the crime- the thief of your sprinkles. And it is... SOUR CREAM TWIST! And you see him, sour cream twist, sitting at the top of the fridge, drawing up some sort of plans on paper, with your sprinkles right there next to him! They look worried and scared. You look closer... The plans seem to detail what he intends to do with the sprinkles... such as sprinkling them on himself. That wouldn't be so bad, only 1. excessive sprinkling is a terrible, terrible thing. 2. breakfast foods don't need sprinkles! You pull yourself away. You know what you have to do. You roll the egg away; you won't need it anymore. And you push off from the ground yet again, flying up to the top of the fridge. The flight takes several hours, but it gives you time to examine the different magnets and that's enjoyable. Okay, you are there! "WHAT???" gasps sour cream twist. You look at him.

"I have come to take my rightful sprinkles back! I need them! You don't!" Sour Cream Twist glares at you. "I want sprinkles. I want to make myself colorful. I want them, and I don't want anyone else to have them. And if I don't get them, I will burn them and make sure no one else will!" OH! You are astounded that he suggested burning sprinkles. What kind of a world is this? "You are a twisted delicacy!!" you say to him. "Yes, I am! I'm a maniac but I will have sprinkles. The world has given me no recognition! Bagels, Donuts, Pastrys, Hot Cross Buns! I have no place in the breakfast industry! No one knows of me! Sprinkles will give me the boost I need! Children will see me and be filled with joy! Everyone loves sprinkles and everyone will love me! I hate a world that I have no place in!" OH!! Again, you are astounded. "You are so bitter! You are so sour! Not even sprinkles will sweeten up your life." Sour Cream Twist doesn't want to talk about himself anymore. He is tired of you. He nods, and you feel the walnut wings being ripped off your back. You turn around, and his henchmen are right there. You didn't plan for this. But then you realize, you have elbows. And so you elbow the henchmen off the edge of the fridge. They fall, and Sour Cream Twist is upset, even more. He snarls at you. You reach into your pocket and pull out the flour in your pocket. You throw it at him. "NOOOOO!!!!!" he yells. "I was supposed to be down with flour! It reminds me of my early days, of being kneaded! NOOOOO! How... how dare you..." Sour Cream Twist writhes on the ground, squirming. You run to your sprinkles and hug them. Its good to be reunited. As for Sour Cream Twist... he's no longer so twisty. He squirmed his way out of twistiness and is now just a long, straight piece of dough, coated with butter, sugar, and cinnamon. You feel sorry for him. "Look," you say to him. "Look here, you don't need sprinkles to be special. You are amazing as you are. You have a twist. You have sour cream. Those are amazing characteristics. Look, if you feel overshadowed by massproduced breakfast goods, if you feel all alone... Don't. I know someone who will be your friend... Just come with me." You gesture to Sour Cream Twist, and, sniffling a little bit, he follows you. He was just lonely and embittered after all. When you introduce him to his new friend, he perks up. He squirms with happiness and twists back into shape. His new friend? Cinnamon Bun. He's twisted too, in a different way. Or maybe its rolled. At any rate, he's homemade and yummy, just like Sour Cream Twist. It's a breakfast match made in heaven.

You look at Sour Cream Twist and Cinnamon Bun and you feel happy. You look at Sprinkles at your side, and she smiles up at you. "Let's go sprinkle those cookies," you say. And you do. And they taste delicious.