Minions

Everyone knows about my love-hate relationship with those uniformed she-devils better known as the Girl Scouts.  Scouting for victims, like sirens luring sailors to a watery death, the temptresses appear in my life once a year to shove boxes and boxes of Samoas at me.  Five minutes later, I'm walking away twenty dollars poorer.  A few hours later, I've managed to binge on at least one box.  One week later, I'm popping buttons on my shorts.

As if that is not bad enough, now we have the Boy Scouts of America, and man, the Girls Scouts don't have a thing on those little dudes.  I was at the Harris Teeter last weekend when I got jumped by the little gang.

"Sir, would you like to buy some popcorn?"  The little blue-uniformed dumpling (=fatass) was completely lacking in sales skills, but I played along.  I wanted to support a cause, if only for selfish reasons like improving my own damaged karma.

The choices were boxes of popcorn and bags of gourmet chocolate-covered popcorn---my sweet-tooth won out.

This is when I got the shock.  Twenty dollars a bag.  I was too mortified to back out of the transaction.  I have no idea why.  I love to terrify children.  And I'm usually not shy about being an asshole overall, but money makes me uncomfortable.

So I took the popcorn.  All I could think about on the way back to my car was comparing the business plans between the two groups.  The Girl Scouts obviously deal in volume.  The Boys upped the ante and are targeting a higher-end niche market.  Are these kids the future of corporate America?

In the end, I'm still going with the cookies for now on.  That popcorn was crap.  Like a bagful of rabbit turds made by an eighth-grader taking Home Economics for the quarter.  Gourmet my ass.