The Cookie Jar

“I’ve caught you with your hand in the cookie jar!”

“No, you haven’t!”

“Dude, yes I have! I’m looking at you right now! You literally have your hand in the cookie jar!”

“I don’t! This is not even a cookie jar!”

“Dude, it says ‘cookie jar’ right on it!”

“Fake labels! Besides, just because I have my hand in it doesn’t mean I’ve got a cookie.”

“But you’ve got cookie dust on your tie, so obviously you’ve been eating them!”

“Witch hunt! Look, can you see my hand inside the cookie jar? It’s not a transparent jar, so you don’t even know that it’s my hand.”

“But it’s connected to your arm.”

“You’ve got hands on your arms, too! So does almost everyone else. What about them? Why aren’t you investigating them for stealing your cookies?”

“BECAUSE I’M LOOKING AT YOU RIGHT NOW WITH YOUR HAND IN THE COOKIE JAR!!!”

“There aren’t even any cookies in this jar. You’ve really got to stop with this obsessive persecution of me to distract from your own crimes.”

“My own crimes?”

“Yeah! You put cookies in this jar and did NOTHING to stop people from stealing cookies! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

“But just a second ago you said there were no cookies in there.”

“I did not. I don’t know where you’re getting this fake news from.”

(The sound of bloody squelching as I repeatedly bash my skull into a wall.)

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