|Sit down, kids, and I'll tell you a story. A story about me and my valiant struggle against an evil foe. A story about this lanyard. A lanyard that smells vaguely of Dijon mustard. After this story, you will know it as the very smell of lies, misdirection, and EVIL.
Well, it all started a long time ago, when I was in high school. I was a participant in the robotics program there, and- if I may say so myself- I was pretty awesome. Some time after the competition, we took third, by the way, my team was invited to demonstrate at some middle school-level showcase thingy. So, my team was there, showing off our awesome b-ball playing robot and having a generally wonderful time. We were hopped up on delicious Mountain Dew and dealing with annoying hedgehog-headed middle school kids who always wanted to touch my (basket)balls. Anyways, things were all fine and dandy until lunchtime came. We were given little blue tickets to exchange for our food. 'It's a sandwich bar', they said. 'It'll be nice', they said.
Well, I went there. I gave my little blue ticket to the lady at the door to the sandwich bar. At first, it was nice. I got some nice fruit salad, a croissant, some turkey. Then, I met my soon to be arch-nemesis. I met... CONDIMENT LADY. Of course, at first, she looked just like anyone else. Like many people, I like some yellow mustard on my nice, buttery turkey-on-croissant sandwich. So there I was. Looking at the condiment choices. My eyes dart to the mustard. I see a bowl of dubious-looking mustard sitting behind the 'mustard' card, with the neighboring 'Dijon mustard' card having no bowl to describe. After choking back a tear for the poor, lonely Dijon mustard card, I thrust an innocent finger towards the ambiguous condiment. I asked, "Is this yellow mustard?" "Yes", was the reply of Condiment Lady, her neutral- slightly bored- voice hiding the infinite malice contained withing her slight frame. Looking back, it sounded almost practiced, as if she spent late nights perfecting that exact tone of voice. Then I- like a fool- took a generous spoonful of the horrible, untruth-tainted mustard and plopped it onto my sandwich, testing its innocent deliciously with horrible lies and equally horrible Dijon mustard. Unaware of this hideous miscarriage of contaminated-ness, I took my chips and an average-looking cookie and left the sandwich bar, hereby known as the Den of Infinite Evil.
I dutifully carried my plate back up to the room the robot was set up in, and prepared to take a bite of my sandwich. Luckily, my tongue touched it first, and alerted me to the horrid condiment on my otherwise sweet sandwich of innocence. My nostrils burned with misdirection and evil, evil lies as I set the sandwich down. I took a paper towel, a valiant martyr in the fight, but my efforts were fruitless. The blob of lies fell onto the plate and onto the counter, which is where this now-historical lanyard lay, and where it was indelibly tainted with evil, evil mustard and the only thing worse that that: Lies. It was then I swore my revenge against my nameless foe: CONDIMENT LADY. The rest of the day went splendidly, except whenever I Wanted to use that lanyard- which was fairly often, considering the battery checker was attached to it- I was reminded of the stain. The stain of the Queen of Lies herself: Condiment Lady.
Heed this warning, children. Condiment Lady's evil, lying form still stalks the Earth, waiting for her next victim, and her crimes must only grow more heinous. That day it was mustard. By now, she might be substituting horseradish for ketchup or a hive of live bees for mayonnaise. She might even steal your children in the night and feed them only condiments, day and night, each one improperly labeled. So ends my cautionary tale, children. Remain vigilant, so that your sandwiches might remain untainted by the unchained evil that is Condiment Lady.