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Speed-Dating Diaries: The Jolly Green Giant

Predate Mingle:

Boy, there are a lot of singles here. I had no idea there’d be this many other bachelors. Sure, I expected some of these guys to show up — Count Chocula hasn’t had a date in centuries. Chef Boyardee’s never done well with the ladies, and that Trix bunny — word is, he’s still a virgin. Silly rabbit. Chicks are for kids.

And don’t even get me started on those Keebler elves. They’re here ‘looking for women’… riiiiight. We all know what’s going on in that oak tree, fellas. You’re not fooling anybody.

Still, there’s some real competition here, too. Louis Rich? Jimmy Dean? Oscar Mayer? Jesus, it’s like a sausage factory in here.

“His bologna’s got a first name and a last name, if you know what I mean.”

And that Mayer guy — the rumor is… well, you know. His bologna’s got a first name and a last name, if you know what I mean. If those guys snatch up all the hot chicks, it’s really gonna boil my broccoli.

Suddenly, I’m having second thoughts. But they’re ready to start, so what the hell. Into the frying pan, I guess.

Session #1: Mrs. Buttersworth

Nice woman, I suppose, though a little old for me. Turns out she’s a widow; Mr. Buttersworth died a few years back, in a freak molasses accident. Seems like she’s desperate to find another man; the vibe I got from her was all clingy and sticky-sweet.

I think she’d be tough to handle, except in small doses.

Session #2: Betty Crocker

Jeez, another gal past her prime. She could be my grandmother, for the love of leafy lettuce!

At least she doesn’t come with a lot of baggage — though how an old-fashioned woman like her could stay single this long makes me wonder. I thought maybe she’s lesbian — but look at those clothes. An apron? And a bonnet? Nah. They’d laugh her right off the field hockey team.

Must be something else. Something scary in her past. I don’t need that kind of train wreck. Next.

Session #3: Wendy

Hrm. Cute. Redhead. Freckly. Jailbait.

Jeez, do they not check IDs for these things? I can’t even look this girl in the pigtails without feeling like a dirty old man. Leave her on the vine, man; this one’s not ripe yet.

Man, that’ll soften up the old celery stick. Speaking of which, I could sure use another Bloody Mary. Bartender!

Session #4: Mrs. Paul

Great, another widow. Is it all ‘dented cans’ in this place, or what? I don’t think I’m being overly picky; it’s not like I’m only looking for a thirty-foot tall girl with green skin. Just give me something to work with here.

Still, Mrs. P. does make a mean fish stick. She may be a little wilted and brown around the edges, but you can’t argue with good cooking. I’ll put her on the ‘maybe’ list.

Session #5: Sue Bee

Now we’re talking — this girl is hot like a bagful of jalapenos! And the costume getup doesn’t hurt, either.

Oh, sure — now she takes offense when I ask whether her clothes are ‘tandoori and curry’ Indian or ‘we call it maize’ Indian. Lady, I’m sitting here in a toga made from fricking leaves. Get over yourself, already.

But no. Now it’s the silent treatment for the next five minutes. C’mon, it was a joke! I’m freezing my peas off over here. Bitch.

Session #6: Clabber Girl

Creeping cauliflowers, she introduces herself that way? Damn, no wonder she can’t get a man, if she–

Oh. Wait. Clabber Girl. I thought she said Clapper Girl, like she’d contracted… um, yeah. How awkward is that?

Lucky for me, the session got cut short by a commotion at the bar. Seems Mrs. Buttersworth had been hanging out with St. Pauli Girl all night, got herself hammered, and propositioned the bartender to a three-way with her sister Jemima. *shudder*

Yow. I could have gone a whole harvest without picturing that.

Session #7: Sara Lee

Wow, what a cutie. This is what I came here for! Great girl, fantastic smile, fun to talk to, quick on her feet — there’s just nothing wrong with this lady. She can cream my niblets any day.

Of course, from what my buddy Dinty Moore tells me, that’s the problem. The way he tells it, nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee. She’s bumped Brussels sprouts with half the guys on the shelves — Mr. Peanut, Mr. Clean, even Poppinfresh. That pasty little dough boy got to see her ‘hee-heee!‘ before I did. It’s just not fair. One hottie in the whole crop, and it turns out she’s a ho-ho-ho. Damn.

Eh, screw it. At this rate, I’ll never find a girl. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the corn field with a tub of Cool Whip and a Butterball turkey.

You, um… you might want to knock first. I may be jolly, but a green giant has needs, you know?