The Spam tolls for thee

By Tiber

If this isn’t a sure sign that Dad’s money may be dwindling, I don’t know what is. He came home today with a stack of cans of Spam and suggested it might be fun if we had an “Inventive Ways to Use Spam” contest. I think he probably had recipes in mind but with the contest participants being our family, the results ended up being a little more wide-ranging.

Duncan made a Spam girlfriend for me, saying she was bound to last a lot longer than any of my real ones. I was about to slam him, when I realized that, actually, that was true.

Iris Nell molded her Spam into the sweet animal she figured it came from, to shame anyone eating it, I guess. But it looked nothing like a pig or a cow or anything else in the natural world. Iris Nell will never be hired to be a Spam sculptor. It definitely put you off eating the final version, though, so I guess her goal was accomplished.

Even more disturbing than Iris Nell’s contribution, was Erin’s. She fashioned her Spam into a human arm and tattooed it using Worcestershire sauce. At least she said that’s what she used, so we’ll go with that.

Mom pretended to be innocently looking on to the proceedings with great interest but when she daintily crossed her ankles, I caught her shoving her own Spam under her chair with her heels. The dogs found it later and used it to play a really loud game of snout-hockey down the corridor.

Cook, who at least got the recipe part right, was too mortified to be seen serving Spam at all. So she “tarted it up a bit” with a black truffle, white wine dressing and served it on a bed of Belgian endive, making it the most expensive salad Dad had ever bought.

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