The Fudge Man

“Do you think he invented the fudge?” Mom asked as I walked through the living room on my way to do a load of laundry.

“Fudge?” I asked, pretty much completely baffled.  “Who invented fudge?”

“That guy that they were just talking about,” she replied as though that would explain it.

“Who was talking about what guy?  A fudge guy?”

“Maybe.  I’m not sure if he’s the fudge man or not.  I was just wondering out loud.”

“Well who were they talking about?”

“That guy who’s running for president.  You know, Sanders.”

“Bernie Sanders?”

“Yep, him.  I just wondered if he’s the same Sanders that invented the fudge.”

“Are you talking about Sanders Hot Fudge?  From Michigan?”

“Yes.  Don’t you remember?  You used to love that stuff.”

“I remember,” I said wistfully.  “Grandma would take all of us cousins to the Sanders store in Detroit and we’d sit at the lunch counter and I’d always get a hot fudge cream puff.”

“Well, I was just wondering if that Bernie guy was the same Sanders.”

“No, I don’t think so.  He’s not from Michigan.”

“Oh, okay.  Then maybe he’s the chicken guy.”

“No, Mom, that’s the Colonel and he’s from Kentucky.  This is the socialist guy from Vermont.”

“Hmmmf,” she snorted.  “Then I’m guess he just wants communist stuff, not American stuff like fudge and fried chicken.”

“Yup, pretty much,” I laughed.  “Unless somebody else pays for it.  Then he wants it all.”

Bernie



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