A satirical poem about Girl Scout cookie sales.
|The Cookie Pushers
It's very near Spring; the tubers are popping,
announcing the girls who beckon "come shopping."
Pushing their poisonous cookies of sin,
from rickety tables, for hours on end.
Their sweet little smiles, like pollen to bees,
say "Mister would you buy a box from us please?"
Their uniforms threaten, those armies of witches,
who prey on our buds, so to roll in their riches.
Samoas and thin mints, their weapons of choice,
entice us to buy, just to see them rejoice.
Don't pass by their fortress of crummy confections,
those poisonous, syrupy, toxic collections.
Or feminine demons will scowl, as you pass,
how can you not purchase some treats from the lass?
You claim diabetes forbids that you spend,
four dollars for sugar; their feelings to mend.
The gorgons will visit each night as you sleep,
clawing and ripping in nightmares they creep.
So just to be safe buy a box, maybe four
and pamper the troops that you'll come to adore.
Final statement: I just bought my box of Samoas yesterday. Support the Girl Scouts, OR ELSE!