Showing posts with label Baron Jude Turgider. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baron Jude Turgider. Show all posts

Friday, September 1, 2017

The Girl Scout Cookie Caper, Part Three and Conclusion


"What's with these start-up villains just popping up and announcing their presence via mail? Maybe we should start staking out post offices", I offered through a mouthful of cookie carnage.
Jeff and Michael shrugged their shoulders.
"Well, this guy is off on the wrong foot if he assumes that just because he sent us all these cookies that we're going to sit around eat them all", I said as I opened yet another sleeve of Thin Mints.
"Regardless", Michael replied. "We should start by figuring out who this 'Turgider' is."
I shot up in my seat and exclaimed, "Wait a minute! Turgider? Traditional spelling?"
Jeff said, "Presumably, yes."
"You guys, Turgider backward is Red Igurt!"
Jeff and Michael looked at each other then responded in unison, "Red Igurt? That doesn't make any sense."
"Exactly. Nothing about this case makes any sense", I said and sat down, self-satisfied.
Jeff said, "Okay. Great. Thanks for the contribution" with an unnecessarily aggressive eye-roll.

We went about working on the case which involved high-speed car chases, fist fights, explosions etc., none of which we have time to talk about due to the space wasted on the verbal exchange above.

Eventually, we found out Baron J. Turgider was indeed trying to put the Girl Scouts out of business. Why? To benefit his baked goods-makin' baby mama, none other than...
LITTLE DEBBIE!
We let both of them off with a warning (seemed fair since they did give* us all those cookies) to stop trying to destroy cherished institutions dedicated to developing young people and never involve us in any Jerry Springer-esque family matters. We would go on to cross paths with Little Debbie again later in spite of this.

* Jeff pointed out that we actually had to pay for all those cookies.


Wednesday, August 30, 2017

The Girl Scout Cookie Caper, Part Two

When I looked at the bill of lading I almost lost control of my bowels. 56 pallets, each containing 24 cases, each containing 18 boxes, each containing 24 cookies (approx), that makes... what? Almost 600,000 cookies, by my reckoning. We wouldn't need that many biccies if we were stockpiling a nuclear shelter. Who in their right mind would think we would even require the over a million cookies we now had? (Yes, I signed for them. I think the driver tricked me into it.)

"If you ask me," said Clark, showers of Thin Mints crumbs exiting his mouth as he spoke, "I think somebody wants us to have them for some ulterior purpose."



"Like what?" retorted Michael through a beard full of Samoa chunks.

"Like for example, say if you're in the cookie business and you don't want the competition from the Girl Scouts every year, and you somehow devise a plan to send ALL the Girl Scout cookies in America to one individual!"

"...or individual organisation!" I yelled. "These cookies weren't ordered  by us, but they showed up at our gaff. The Girl Scouts didn't know it wasn't us who ordered them, and since we took them anyway, they're probably none the wiser!"

"But who is so desperate to sell their own baked treats that they would try to remove all of a competitor's cookies from the marketplace? Who would concoct so devious a plan?" inquired Michael.

Just then, the mail plopped onto the mat (remember, this was back in the day, and we hadn't got ourselves a mailboy just yet). Clark picked up the pile and there, on top, was this note:

Well, now. If things up until this point had been a bit weird, then this note had made sure things were downright freaky. Who was this Turgider fellow? And if he made cookies, how come we'd never heard of him?


More of this story on Friday.