My hands hurt. My back ached. Hell, everything

My hands hurt. My back ached. Hell, everything hurt or ached. Working in the mines was at the unfortunate center of the Pain - Suffering - Hopelessness Venn diagram.

But there was enough salt. Needed to make some ice cream? Just chip a handful from that stalagmite. And in spite of everything, At least I wasn't working in a Chilean pepper mine.

Just one sneeze could leave everyone caved in. My boss tapped my shoulder. "Boy, you've been promoted to the Transylvanian garlic mines. No más salt with deadly weapons for you."

Phew! At least he didn't say 'no hay más pantaloons', to me, like he did at the last Christmas party...can you say awkward? I was excited to start my new promotion, and I loved

the way my co-workers trained a family of squirrels and other woodland creatures to come into my new office and clean it for the start of my new role at the company as

the new innovation leader of the keebler cookies. And to think I was worried that I wouldn't fit it... well obviously I wouldn't physically fit in the tree house, but my new office

But then I found out that PGPR wasn't really all it had been cracked up to be. Now I think of myself as a born-again Nutella enthusiast. Because everyone knows

that Nutella can go on bagels, toast or as pretzel dip--wait. This is becoming an advertisement. Maybe that was the PGPR's game. Making me advertise things for free, unawares.

PGPR is a yellow,viscous liquid of polyglycerol esters from polycondensed fatty acids of castor oil used as cheap substitute for cocoa butter. I feel absolved of my commercial sins