Every year for Christmas my mom makes cookies that leave me crippled. They're so good I sometimes replace entire meals with them. I eat them until I feel sick, lay down until I feel better, then I eat some more. I don't know if you can bake with heroin, but the addiction level is right up there with the strongest opiates. Then in January, when my supply runs out, I'm left a shaking, paranoid mess for about a week before I can rejoin society. I need more but she won't make them. Why do they only have to be for Christmas? It makes no logical sense other than it's keeping me from growing to 800 pounds and becoming a shut in who relies on Chinese food delivery people for companionship.
This is the holiday edition of Foster from
Super7. He's all decked out with red and green sprinkles and pink filling. You know a smiling cookie that has already taken a bite out of himself is gonna mess you up. You'll be in rehab in no time after partaking in this guy. So don't eat him, just put him on your shelf and pretend he's not tempting you with his addictive deliciousness. Add him to your collection today at noon Pacific time for $25 by going to
www.super7store.com.
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