THE PORK PIE, THE CANDY BAR, AND THE GLASS OF COLD MILK (OR LETTER FROM GLOUCESTER COUNTY JAIL)
Why I ended up in jail is no mystery. After months of listening to those more glib than I at making predictions, I began plotting my future. However when asked if I preferred the pork pie, the candy bar, or the glass of cold milk, I was flummoxed.
As spring finished and summer wore on, mine became a solitary quest. Nothing was the same—the milk curdled, the pork pie went rancid, and the candy bar disappeared—I blame myself for not being vigilant. Frustrated, I took a gun and started shooting at random, hitting a man with a briefcase in the leg.
Despite predictions to the contrary, the house suddenly went up in flames and everything perished. With the fate of the stolen candy unknown, no option remained. I had fired a gun based on a faulty premise. The man I shot understood and didn’t press charges. I thought that was the end of it.
The prosecutor, an elected official, thought differently. I was convicted, not for the shooting, but for failing to make the proper choice. I might have bluffed my way out of all this had the cops apprehended the candy thief in a timely way. After a lengthy interrogation, she admitted to eating the chocolate and got a $5 fine.
Nancy reads "The Pork Pie, the Candy Bar, and the Glass of Cold Milk..."
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Nancy confesses: "The spectacle of the primaries became a daily fix—lying, stupidity, meanness, shouting, narcissism fueled my indecision about whom to vote for, but in a country where we have had to fight and sometimes die for the right to vote, not voting feels like a crime. Satire seemed one way to deal with what was going on."