What the hell, Oscar M.?  Do I not put money in your employees’ pockets?  Was I not the one responsible for the great Oscar Meyer stock surge of 2007 the last time I went camping?  Did profit from my last excursion to the grocery store not put those pimpin’ rims on the Oscar Meyer mobile?  Do I not love you enough?  Is that it?

Why you gotta do me like that, Os?

If we’re going to grow from this and make this relationship work, we’re going to have to rebuild this little thing called trust.  Trust that you won’t try to puncture my esophogus with an itty bitty mystery meat bone. 

You’ve stolen my innocent faith in unhealthy, sodium-packed food products.  And without those, I’m nothing. 

I may or may not accept your phone calls.  And don’t even think about asking mustard to talk to ketchup about talking to me.  Because your friends can’t bail you out of this one.  This one’s all you, hombre.

Flowers might help.

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