Food Fright, Part 6
Uncle Andrew
I picked up a few organic juice boxes for our July 4th bash, in case anyone chose to bring their children—or, I suppose, someone else’s children, for that matter. No children were in attendance, so I turned distribution of the itty bitty drinkables over to our roommate Shawn, who has a six-year-old daughter. She took to them with gusto.
The other night, Shawn wandered into the living room holding a box of organic grape juice and said, “I don’t think this company paid a lot of attention to their package design. At least, I hope they didn’t.”
Margaret and I stared at the package for a moment. She got it before I did.
I then had to get up and go check to see if the organic lemonade box somehow managed to spell out the term “forcible sodomy”.
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