Down with Danish

After watching Muslims sacking Danish embassies in today’s continuing cartoon wars, I decided an act of solidarity with needed, and I set out to demonstrate at our local Danish embassy. Unfortunately we don’t have a Danish embassy. I looked for a consulate, but we don’t have one of those either. In fact the closest I could get to anything Danish was the bakery at our local Kroger store.

I bought three Danish and stuck them on a wooden stick. I set the stick upright in the grass alongside Main Street. I planned to burn them as an act of protest.

Did you know that Danish don’t burn? I meant they can get really toasty and black if you hold a flame up to them, but they don’t actually catch fire like a rubber tire or flag. I didn’t know that. The bag that held the Danish burns, but I had tossed it away, and, besides, burning a bag that once held three Danish is not the same as burning the Danish themselves.

I went back to my house to double check in the phonebook to make sure there was no Danish government office in town, and when I came back I found a dog eating my Danish, even the slightly blackened one. It took the dog only a couple of minutes to finish the Danish and move on.

I went back to Kroger and asked them to stop selling Danish. They told me that Danish aren’t really made in Denmark, but I think they were lying. They did offer to take Muslix off the shelves but they weren’t sure that came from Denmark, either. I think they just wanted to get rid of a cereal that wasn’t selling because who wants to eat something that sounds like its main ingredient comes out of your nose?

Anyway, while I was reading the Muslix box to see if it comes from Denmark, some lady started screaming that she just bought a Danish that looked like the Prophet Mohammed.

I ran over to see it for myself, but some Christian guy grabbed it and ate it, and then held up a Pop Tart that he swore had the Shroud of Turin printed on it. He passed it around, but I didn’t see anything in it. It is a matter of faith, or maybe just Olympic fever.

Or maybe it was Allah’s way of telling me get a life. Yeah, maybe that.