Dear Chocolate Milk

My grandma told me that you came from brown cows. I believed that for a long time. Maybe I still do. I’m not sure. I’ve never seen cows giving chocolate milk. I live in a big city. No cows.

Most parents hate it when their kids order chocolate milk in a restaurant and proceed to blow bubbles in it. I always blew bubbles in my chocolate milk. Restaurant owners must like blowing bubbles in chocolate milk or they wouldn’t provide customers with straws in every glass served.

I rarely buy straws anymore. Not because I don’t like them, but because I always forget to put them on my shopping list. I should start drinking milkshakes again. I’d remember to pick up straws. Milkshakes are hard to drink without a straw.

Anyways, I am writing to tell you that I got too drunk last night while watching one of my favourite Alberta bands. They are called the Dudes. If you had ears I’d suggest that you listen to them. Later, I spent a portion of the night worshiping the porcelain altar, engaging in the big cough. It sucked. In the morning my mouth was dry and my stomache was sore.

I tried some water but it wasn’t delicious enough. So, I drank some chocolate milk and I felt better. Much better.


Fergis T. McGillicuddy