Close to Home by John McPherson for April 13, 2019

no, you are the dinner.

When the natives asked “we would like to have you for dinner” he ended up in some real hot water!

Mom better watch her grass skirt near the fire.

No! I said my NAME is Stew… Stewart Gumbo.

Don’t play with your food.

To Serve Man.

I can just hear what those kids are yelling: “Is dinner ready yet?”.

The spoon might taste of missionary pee.

Where do these natives who life in grass huts get a large metal pot? It seems every cannibal village has one.

I remember when I was young, if my mother made a cake she would let me lick the frosting off the electric beaters. And if she was in a good mood, she would shut them off first.

Mom: “Geez, when was the last time you took a bath? I didn’t even have to add bouillon cubes.”

Well, the dog is safe for awhile, I guess. . . . :)

Never new New Guinea natives were Caucasians.