George,
How’s Martha? To quell her fears about my giving out granola bars on playgrounds, people were beginning to think that I was rather two-dimensional so I had to step out of the box. What a gossip. As you know yourself George, I cannot tell a lie.
But I can tell you I was speaking with Aunt Jemima about your dollar bill audition and it is in God we trust that you will get the part. Remember that George. In God we trust. Tri-corner hats and white wigs beckon to the role of founding father, be it for hot breakfast mush or a nations currency.
Speaking of this trusting in God, I wanted to talk to you about something. I often think of your new “Pledge of Allegiance”. It is with heavy heart that I write this to you: as a Quaker man, I will always be under God, not just one nation. Granted it’s with no thanks to Him that I am forever destined to stare at oats. How absurd. My life is absurd.
Fuck, George. I’m having an existential crisis.
-Mr. Quaker Oats
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