Bad Fortunes

I’m a Chinese food junkie.
Carry out.
3 to 4 times a week.
Egg rolls, moo goo guy pan,
cashew chicken (Springfield style, of course),
and fortune cookies.
Especially fortune cookies.

So here’s the deal.
I started noticing
that something just wasn’t right with the fortunes.
You know, the ones you read and then say,
“What kind of fortune was that?”
Fortunes like,
“I’m trapped in this dead end job!”
“Send help!”
“Is this the best I can do with a college education?”
and “I expected more out of life than this.”
You get the idea.

And the more of these I read,
the more I realized.
That they were either a pathetic cry for help
or a unique way to get published.

But either way,
it doesn’t really matter.
Because just as suddenly as they began
they ended.
You know,
they became stupid stuff like
“Beware of paper dogs running backwards”
and “Fear the man who claims to know.”

I imagine that the guy got canned.
I mean, you could pretty much see that coming.
But the bad thing is
now I’ll never know
just how his story might end.