Get Your Breasts Off of My Lettuce

Dear Andy Boy Pre-Packaged Romaine Lettuce:

Get your breasts off of my lettuce. When I open my refrigerator and pull out the cool, wet, crinkly packaged of lettuce, all I want to think about is the rapidly impending saladocity that my lips are about to encounter, attractively schmeared with dollops and dabbles of Kraft Spicy Ranch dressing.

Although it may come as a surprise to you, when I am dealing with lettuce, or any leafy green for that matter, I don't want to be thinking about breasts.

Especially ones with cancer in them.

So, seriously: can my lettuce please stop supporting breast cancer survivors and advocating for greater breast cancer awareness?

Andy Boy, can't lettuce just be fucking lettuce?

I understand that when I buy Milkbone products, I might get some sappy-assed ploy for me to donate to the SPCA with a picture of some sloppy-assed bassett hound looking at me with its sad, cracked out eyes. That makes sense. Malignant tits, however, and lettuce do not mix.

And, while you're at it, can you please tell Susan G. komen to keep her tots off my Kitchenaid hand mixer?

And, Andy Boy-- if you've got pals at the Coca Cola Bottling Company, the Red Dress Foundation is getting their boobies all up ons a brotha's Diet Coke. Okay, maybe not their boobies, but their diseased hearts. And a woman's boobie is over her heart, last time I checked.

It's insulting when corporate America pretends to give a shit about women, or children, or Koreans. You motherfuckers just want our money, and that's fine.

Take it. We just want our lettuce.

Sincerely,
Mr.Apron