If I Ran the Store

“It's a good store, I’ll admit,” said young Jackie McSh*t,
“And there’s healthy stuff there if you know what to get.
But if I ran the place,”
Said Jackie with glee.
“I believe that’d I’d make a few changes, you see…”

“The cupcakes and cookies and that kind of stuff
Are tasty but aren’t really healthy enough.
You can get all that crap at any ol’ grocery,
But my store will have wholesome foods (mostly).”

“A rack full of donuts is awfully calorious,
So I’d replace it with fresh fruit so glorious.
Apples and cherries,
Kumquats and berries,
No one’ll believe all the fruit my store carries.
This store-keeper, more-keeper should be plumb rich,
Because he is one focused, health-driven sumbitch.”

My fit store, McSh*t store’s the store of the year.
My fit store, McSh*t store will make people cheer
For the exotic cheeses and imported beer.

I’ll get for my store a whole row of bins,
Filled with all sorts of health-helping odds and ends
Lentils and rice, beans and granola.
Bins full of oil, olive and canola,
Each with it’s own special cupola.
If you want it, do I carry it? Oh yeah!

But that’s just the first aisle,
There’s more and you want it.
You’ll see me next day in my store-keeper’s bonnet
Wheeling in a long table with fresh veggies on it.

You’ll be so surprised you might swallow your tongue.
When you see how much produce my storeroom has sprung.
Everything fresh, all tender and young.
Shipped overnight from lands way off yonder.
How can the prices be this low, you may ponder.

“Yes, my prices are slit,”
Said young Jackie McSh*t.
“Because it’s my belief
You’ve a right to be healthy.
Even if you’re not
So incredibly wealthy.
You should have a  place
That’s quite easy to get to.
And won’t cost a bundle
To help you get fit, too.”

I’ll discourage ingredients that no one can spell,
Like calcium stearoyl-2-lactylate-ell.
I promise to keep my shelves
Completely unblemished,
With foodstuffs prepared
By a committee of chemists.

Yes, my store will include
All sorts of good food.
The best healthy choices
That you’ve ever viewed.
And none of the employees
You meet will be rude.
(Except for the sushi chef…
What’s with that dude?)

Italian food, Indian, Chinese, Hispanic.
A selection of good choices simply gigantic.
And everything 110% organic.
We’ll ring you up, and hey… this is fantastic!
Our paper bags are made from recycled plastic.

Wow, you will cheer, at this store that you chose.
It’s better than Whole Foods, it kills Trader Joe’s.
That’s what Jackie McSh*t said.
“I’d do that and more.
I’d make a few changes if I ran the store.”

THE DAILY SCALEY

Dammit! Forgot to weigh this morning. 

Sh*tlock Holmes and the Case of the Lost Pounds

“Fatson, come here.”

“What is it, Holmes?” answered the chubby assistant, sporting a tweed suit and meaty porkchop sideburns.

“I believe it’s a clue,” rejoined Sh*tlock Holmes, who was dressed in a Sherlock Holmes outfit, complete with magnifying glass.

“It appears to be a rice cake with peanut butter smeared on it,” observed Fatson.

“Almond butter,” corrected Sh*tlock.

“How can you know that?” asked Fatson, perplexed.

“Smellamentary, my dear Fatson. And did you take a look in the pantry?”

“It seems perfectly ordinary to me…” bemused Fatson

“Take a closer look,” said Sh*tlock.

“Good heavens…”

“That’s right,” continued the detective. “No corn chips, toritilla chips, potato chips, pretzel chips, pita chips, Sun chips, cheese nibs, Cheez-Its, Cheese Whiz, Chex mix, cheese-and-crackers, crackers-and-cheese, peanut butter-and-crackers, peanut butter cookies, pretzels, Pringles, Pop-Tarts, pork rinds, Fritos, Cheetos, Doritos…

“Unbelievable! Perhaps they refrigerate their snacks,” suggested Fatson. “For freshness.”

Sh*tlock swung open the refrigerator door, and his assistant peered over his shoulder.

“I don’t understand it,” blubbered Fatson. “There’s nothing in here but fresh fruits and vegetables. No one eats like this. It’s impossible.”

Sh*tlock shook his head as he held a red plum to his face to examine it more closely. “How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”

Sh*tlock sniffed at the air, then moved toward the laundry room.

“Fatson,” said Sh*tlock. “Take a big whiff in that laundry hamper.”

Fatson obliged, but reeled backwards after sticking his face down to smell.

“Good God, Sh*tlock,” exclaimed Fatson. “That’s utterly horrible.

“Just as I suspected,” hmmmmmm’ed Sh*tlock. “Exercise.”

Fatson shook his head, “Have you figured the mystery out yet, Sh*tlock?”

“I believe I have, Fatson,” he said, pacing back and forth in the hallway. “The lack of junk food, the abundance of healthy nutritional items and the sweat-soaked workout clothes indicate a successful weight loss journey is underway.”

“That’s it, Sh*tlock,” exclaimed Fatson. “But you haven’t solved the mystery of where the missing pounds went. Do you have the answer to that, Holmes?”

“I believe I have, my good man,” said Sh*tlock. “Look over your shoulder.”

“What?” asked Fatson.

“Lower,” suggested Sh*tlock.

“There?” croaked Fatson.

“Yes, my good fellow,” said Sh*tlock. “Right there on your ass.”

“Ahh, yes,” frowned Fatson, sucking his gut in a bit. “Mystery solved.”