The Worst Fortune Cookie Fortune OF ALL TIME.

I bet you thought that I’d say it right off the bat; the worst fortune cookie fortune of all time.
Well I’m not going to blow it that soon.
There’s no build-up.
I WILL tell you in this blog, so don’t think that I’m trying to trick you. This would be a stupid blog if I titled it ‘The Worst Fortune Cookie Fortune OF ALL TIME!” and didn’t actually tell you what the fortune was, wouldn’t it?
I can’t stand when people do that.
No, I’m definitely going to tell you.

First, a little build-up.
I’ve read fortunes from fortune cookies since I was old enough to read.
Even before that, they were read to me by my mother and father, if I remember correctly, which I don’t, because that was such a long time ago.
A fortune from a fortune cookie is supposed to be mysterious.
It is supposed to be helpful, if ambiguous.
A good fortune cookie, along with serendipitous timing in your life, can make you wonder about the reality of oracles and other people who have visions of the future (ed. gypsies?).
A good fortune from a fortune cookie, in theory, can make you question the very existence of god.

My fortune cookie fortune boldly proclaimed “A crab wonton a day keeps the doctor away.”

Let that sink in.
Re-read it.
I would be upset if it simply stated the adage (AMERICAN adage, mind you) “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”
I would already be upset if the fortune writer just came across as lazy.
Go ahead and re-read it again, I’ll wait:
“A crab wonton a day keeps the doctor away.”
They’ve twisted a very important message about eating raw fruit daily to help maintain a healthy lifestyle into this… this horrible marketing scam.
Here’s what the writer thought while he was writing it: “I think I’m a clever fortune cookie writer and I’ll probably get a raise.”
Here’s what his boss said to him when he turned it in: “Thomas, you’re our best fortune writer! Not only is this a clever play on a traditional American adage, it will increase the sales of crab wontons in our Asian partnership restaurants, and make us Bookoos of money! You’re promoted mister!!!”
I’m sure the boss slapped him on the ass, they both laughed a hearty laugh, and then they feasted together on their lunch of innocent baby souls.

As fun as that scene sounds, you’re forgetting something: they’re spreading lies.
Go ahead and read it yet again:
“A crab wonton a day keeps the doctor away.”
Have you ever enjoyed a crab wonton?
I love them.
I wish more people would eat them.
But they will NOT keep the doctor away, no matter how badly I wish they would.
They are a tiny pastry stuffed with a copious amount of cream cheese, onions, a bit of garlic or ginger, and finally crab meat, or the horrible-sounding, but cool-spelling “Krab” meat (imitation crab).
Then they are deep fried to a golden greasy brown, and served with one of several sassy sauces that have too much sugar in them.

So we’re to read this fortune and believe that eating a deep-fried cream cheese pastry a day will keep us healthy?
I have a few doctors who would disagree with that.
Children will read this and take it to heart!
Literally; because when children eat enough fried cream cheese puffs, they will surely develop a cardiac condition of some sort.

I dare you- yes, that’s right, it’s ON- I dare you to find a worse fortune cookie than mine.
You won’t be able to.
The nearest I’ve seen, I opened IMMEDIATELY after this one.
It was a bit more watered down, but ultimately still reprehensible.
It said “Reach for your dreams. Start with the spring rolls.”
…I HATE marketing.

A Crab With A Pinkish Hue

If I were a crab with a pinkish hue, I would tell all my little grandcrabs about how I escaped many years ago, while I was being boiled alive. I would tell them how I killed the chef with his own mustache. I would tell them how I had to hold my breath for 16 hours as I slowly scuttled my way back to the ocean. I would tell them how I live with one foot in the grave and they would all stare at my missing crabfoot, and their crabeyes would make their way up to my crippled crab crutch, clutched under my crabarm.

I’d tell them about when I got back and the girlcrabs were all over me.

I would regale them with a story of the time the mayor of crabtown offered me a medal for my heroic brave crabbery. I would write a memoir called “memoirs of a crab with a pinkish hue.” I would sell millions of copies in hundreds of crab-languages.

I would give motivational crabspeeches at renowned crabuniversities. I wouldn’t have a large crabhead about it though. I would maintain the crabmodesty passed onto me by my crabgrandfather, who was in Crab War II. I would try to go about my normal crablife without the crabpress or the crabparazzi sensationalizing the event. I would always tell people my story one-on-one, on my own terms, so they could understand the crabfeelings I experienced during my landtrials.

In my older age, I would start a new crabreligion, whereby crabyouths are forced to endure a landtrial of their own. That would be very native crabmerican of me, and I would feel a connection with mother sea. On my crabdeathbed, I would have every crab dear to my crabheart huddle around my crabfire and I would tell them how much they’ve meant to me throughout all my crabyears. Then, I would take the crabliverspotted crabhand of my dear crabwife and I would pass away quietly.

I would scuttle into the great ocean in the sky, ready to face my crabdeathtrials so I could enter crabhalla.

On quiet nights forever more, crabs would hear me whisper encouraging crabwords  to them as they faced great crabdifficulties in their crablives.

And for many crabyears to come, around crabfires under full crabmoons, my story would be told: the Legend of the Crab with the Pinkish Hue.