The tragic tale of Billy the Biscuit

(For this blog post, you’ll need to read it with a southern, somewhat jovial accent. Imagine if you were listening to Mark Twain spin a yarn, or that dude who used to narrate “Dukes of Hazzard. Oh, and you’ll need to pretend he’s strumming a banjo a little while he’s talking. You know, for effect and all).

(Banjo gently playing, leads in) It t’ain’t easy growin’ up on the wild frontier. And when yur a’piece a food, everywhere is the frontier.

Such uz the life ov our hero, Billy the Biscuit. That is, if ya kin even call h’m a hero. Ya, see, Billy lived a tragic life. Right frum the start, ol’ Billy had it rough, as we see he’ear in the kit’chun of Sam and his pop.

“I’m hungry. Can you make me some breakfast,” says ol’ Sam. Ya see, ol’ Sam, he wuz a growin’ boy, and he needed his vittles to keep h’m healthy.

“Sure, Sam. What would you like?”

“How about some biscuits today.” And so began our tragic story. Ol’ pop, he eazed on over to the fridge, took out a can of them there pre-formed-up biscuits. No that ain’t the way we used to do things back when I uz a boy, but things is different now. Sadly so.

“Oh no, Sam. Two of these biscuits are stuck together. I’m going to have to pull them apart . . .”

Ohhhhh. I sure does hate that. Ol’ pop, he pulled them two biscuits apart. And ol’ Billy was brought into this world with one of them operations without none of that there anesthesia, or what I like to call No Pain Medicine.

And then while ol’ Billy wus still a’trying to acquaint hisself with this here wurld, he uz shuved in a 400 DEGREE (!!!) OVEN. Now if that don’t wake ya up and make ya call fer yer ma, I don’t know what will.

But as bad as aaaallllll that is, it t’weren’t nearly as sad as what I’m ’bout to tell ya. Ya see, when ol’ Billy and his friends come out’a that box that’s as hot as the hades yer average Sunday-morning evang’list warned ya ’bout, there uz somethin’ even werse that happened.

Ya see, ol’ Billy didn’t look to good. He’d a’been pulled a’part like’n a man who’s heart was torn be’twixt two lady friends. And when Billy come steamin’ out’ta that oven, he looked like the sorriest excuse fer a biscuit that you ever did see!

“Sam, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you want to eat this one.” That wuz the reason’in’ that ol’ pop wouldn’t a’let his yung’un have that one. Cuz ya see, there were better lookin’ biscuits than ol’ Billy. And why eat an ol’ ugly biscuit when ya could’a had’a Sunday-go-ta-meeting biscuit, as my Ma used to say.

And so it was fer ol’ Billy, He didn’t get to git to fulfill his des’iny. While is friends were bein’ eat’un up, he was left, alone, on the pan. And eventually, poor ol’ Billy, he dun ended up in the trash.

Yep, it t’ain’t easy bein’ a piece of food. If you don’t believe me, you kin ask ol’ Billy fer yerself . . . that is, if’in ya kin find ‘im.

But that’s where this here story takes an’erther turn fer the wurst. Cuz ya see, Billy’s family wuz a missin’ ‘im, too. So his cuzin’, Timmy the Toast, set out to find Billy. I wonder whut’s gonna happen to poor, ol’ Timmy . . .

(Banjo slowly fades out in the background as we see Timmy the Toast hop out of the toaster, strap on a little butter, and go out in search of Billy.)