Cookie Puss

(a)
(b)

Some of my better friends might know about my fear of food fights – noting that I frantically change the TV channel at the first inkling of Hershey syrup (drizzling on top of head, unbeknownst), pie in the face, women taking milk baths, babies eating, and the like. This morning, a Slate dot com article forwarded me to Cookie Puss (Carvel), a boggle-eyed, deranged abomination that might’ve been assembled by your arthritis stricken grandmother in the dark (see exhibit a).

I am familiar with Fudgie the Whale, but how did ole Cookie Puss slip by my fairly keen adolescent radar? He seems to have a well developed public persona; apparently Fudgie and Puss either hosted regular press conferences or campaigned together in some middle America township for city council (see exhibit b). We will assume that they defeated the incumbent, that delicious Clown Sundae assemblage from Friendly’s (no exhibit necessary).

Latent anxieties make it nearly impossible for me not to imagine getting hit in the face by a Cookie Puss – a foaming-at-the-mouth night terror that would, quite literally, carve a few years off my life and plunge me into a self-medicated agoraphobia. Now you know.

Auxiliary thought:

What in the world is Cookie Puss supposed to represent?
That silly-putty beret and bulbous nose make Puss look like a perverted Frenchman. Approach any member of your family with extreme caution if they deliver this letch into your home while encouraging your children to gorge upon his sugary face.