One of my favorite material possessions is my virtue, followed closely by my lawn mower. I also have a sign hanging in my living room that I think is pretty sweet. It’s a old, metal sign that’s been so engulfed by rust, you can barely make out the words “Rust-Oleum – Stops Rust!”
My point is this: I do enjoy irony. Real irony though, not that Alanis Morissette crap. Help yourself to a dictionary, lady.
Irony is what made my Progresso Chicken Gumbo (“cooked with white chicken meat”) so satisfying today. It wasn’t the pseudo-spicy, salt-lacking slurry itself, nor the flavorless, dehumidifying discs that I put on top. My enjoyment came from the fact that I was helping the breasts of one species by completely devouring another's.
Delicious, reduced-sodium irony.
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