Let me get my wallet
If there’s anything that casts a shadow of doubt over people’s eyes of how good of a person you really are, it’s Chocolate Charity drives. The type of things where camps and organizations force young children into a life of servitude by hawking shitty chocolate bars around the neighborhood to grumpy old ladies who want to be left alone.
But the luster of living their dreams as a failed door to door salesman falls to the wayside after about two houses, when they realize they have to get back inside to finish that game of Super Mario Brothers that’s been calling them since Science class.
So the chocolates go untouched, and the dreams of camp slowly start to die.
That’s when the parents step in and come to the rescue. Because if there’s anything that can save the very camp that will get their kids out of the house during the summer, it’s chocolate. And those parents will be damned, DAMNED I SAY, if they will let their little demon spawns disturb their peace during those annoying hot summer months.
So the parents lace up their boots and start hawking the chocolate to you. And they will judge you. They will judge you hard. Suddenly they remember the time you wouldn’t sponsor their walk for cancer, and decide to lay the shame on you think. Real thick. A shame so thick not even Keanu Reeves can save you from it. Whoa…
So you have no choice but to buy their shitty chocolate. You buy it because deep down inside you don’t want to be that one guy in the office who won’t help send a kid to camp. BAH!!! What kind of monster like you doesn’t want to send a kid to camp? You probably also kick puppies in your spare time. Disgusting.
So you play the game Office Politics and hand over your dollar. All the while, deep inside, you hope their kid sprains their ankle and ends up in a wheelchair for the rest of their life, as you chew on their stale chocolate bar made of hopes and summer dreams.