Letter to Comrade Boyardee
(posted Saturday, September 10, 2005)
I must confess, to the deepest recesses of my plasma-powered heart, that your fine worker's ravioli gives me the power I need to continue fighting crime. Over the years, my body's digestive system has been breaking down due to the streams of white-hot plasma that power my energy storage conduits and allow me to shoot crippling streams of pure energy from my fists. I have tried goulash and borscht, but it left me feeling ill and confused. One time I even wound up naked and convulsing in the King Garment Works when I consumed a handful of pecans.
However, while shopping at Dent n' Bent Thrift Foods (I am on a fixed income) I discovered your fine line of mini-raviolis. What a delight, what a treat. I'm sure that Lenin would approve. The red tomato sauce acting as a tasty defender over all the little, tender worker raviolis that inhabit the can. And then the Bear devours them. And does not feel ill. And whatever meat product you use to fill these delightful treats reminds me of summers in Odessa in '36 when I was punishing uppity kulaks for challenging the supremacy of the Soviet State.
In short, Comrade Boyardee, I am enclosing a Patriotic Workers Medal that I have constucted from a can lid and several of your pull-tabs (a handy invention. The Bear does not even need a can opener or bowl, just a spoon!). You should be honored that your fine delicacy is providing a safe Socialist blanket of protection around Paragon City by allowing THE BEAR to continue his nightly patrols.
P.S. Comrade Boyardee, if you are ever in King's Row, stop by and we shall fight crime. I will even show you my Socialist fish, Sparky.
311 King Garment Dr., Apt 77