Over the weekend, as Bridgette and I were preparing to have guests over to our house, we made our way over to Aldi to get some sodapops and snacky crisps. Midway down the cookie aisle, I noticed a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was neither fear nor apprehension, just a forboding unpleasantness brought on by my surroundings.
Now, you may be saying to yourself, “Peter, surely a pound an a half of moderately satisfying fig bars is nothing to get startled about. Hell, your grotesque obsession with Fig Newtons is the stuff of legend. It is perhaps your most appealing characteristic.” To those people, I firmly nod my head in assent. No, the generic fig-treats were the least of my worries (and 1.5 pounds is merely childs play). The problem instead lay with the packaging.
Let’s take a closer look, shall we? Who is the maker of these off-brand, fig-based morsels?
Yikes. No thank you, Daddy Ray.
Who the hell designed this? Seriously, Daddy Ray is some hideous combination of a pre-war Southen plantation owner and an Amish clown. On top of that, his nose looks like it was twisted and mangled in a corn thresher. Who suggested the hair color? Does Daddy Ray live near the site of the Chernobyl disaster?
Anyway, long story short, the Daddy Ray’s fig-nibbles were a big hit at the party, and in the middle of the night I ended up writing a highly emotional, 22-page letter to Daddy Ray himself to thank him.
I have no regrets.