You may have read this somewhere before, but I wish to add it to this site’s humorous offerings.
Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.
Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch.
The grave site was piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Born and bread in Minnesota, Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times and, towards the end, a bit crusty, he was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife Play Dough, and three children: John Dough, Jane Dough, and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart.
The funeral was held at 350 for about 20 minutes.
I like cheesy (or doughy) puns, though I am reminded of John Derbyshire’s sound effects of hisses and boos when he sports a paronomasia-palooza on RadioDerb—with questionable taste. Woo hoo!