Crack is Nothing Compared to Tupperware

If you think crack cocaine is the most addictive substance on the planet, you have never heard of Tupperware.

The GM Finance held her very own Tupperware Party last night to earn points and support an innocent, young niece who has now been infected with the T-bug.

While there are many similarities between crack and Tupperware addiction, there are some major differences.

For example, if you run a crack house, it’s just fine for dead bodies and rats and furniture to be piled up all over the place. Occasional gun fights and stabbings are also acceptable. The only requirement is that you have cash money to pay for your crack.

Tupperware party requirements are much stricter.

To have a Tupperware Party you have to have muffins. Lots and lots of muffins. And finger food. And drinks in cute little glasses. And the host has to STRESS ALL DAY LONG about getting the house JUST perfect for the 7 p.m. party.

In addition to the heavenly smells of muffins, a T-house also has two unmistakable odors that, in the beginning, are faint, but nearer to show time, would choke a bull moose.

These are the scent of estrogen and man-hate.

About mid-afternoon, while hiding in my office, minding my own business, I heard a soft knocking at my door.

I opened it to find hundreds of basketball-sized, pastel-colored estrogen molecules happily bouncing down the hall.

I glanced at the kitchen table. It was perfect. Suitable for the Queen.

So I did what any man would do.

I grabbed my car keys and cellphone and ran for my life.

Because I knew it was only a matter of time before Tupperware junkies filled my home, and the SKY HIGH levels of estrogen and Tupperware would incinerate any man on contact, leaving behind only a wisp of smoke and the lovely smell of pot potpourri.

So I drove to one shopping mall and had dinner.

Then to another mall to have a coffee, read the paper, and people watch.

Then I stopped by the church to get down on my knees to pray before venturing home about 11 p.m.

But lady cars still lined the street outside my house, so I put the pedal to the metal and drove.

Back to the church for more bracing prayer. Lots of prayer.

Much later, as I approached my house, I saw car headlights pointing in all directions.

I only had a split second to react, else I would be captured by a gaggle of glassy-eyed, Tupperwared-up women, including the TUPPERWARE LADY, who was driving away in the biggest Ford Explorer — 10 million quart, totally resealable, and in a variety of springtime colors –that I had ever seen.

And, Mister, the Tupperware Lady drove that beast with authority and at least $900 in her pocket.

When I finally found the courage to return home, after a FIVE-HOUR TUPPERWARE PARTY, the odor of happy lady hormones and well-spent money filled the air.

Thankfully, there were enough muffins leftover to get me through the G.M Finance’s mandatory play-by-play of the hugely successful party.


  • Although most of the ladies had attended another T-Party just one week ago, they still spent over $900!! (I am not sure what Tupperware is made of, but it must be gold or titanium or magical unicorn horns)
  • The GM Finance opened our fridge and whipped out a Tupperware container holding celery that was TWO WEEKS OLD yet still crisp and fresh. (I can personally confirm this to be true, as I was forced to bite into one.)
  • Then, she did the same thing with mushrooms. Despite a week, or a month, or possibly a decade in the fridge, I forget which — IT DOES NOT MATTER WITH TUPPERWARE — the mushrooms were still perfect.
  • Because the G.M. Finance hosted this Tupperware party, she got, OMG, POINTS AND FREE GIFTS!!!
  • To my untrained eye, the gifts were three strainer-looking things, a lid, and a string, all with the TUPPERWARE LIFETIME WARRANTY!!
  • And to my knowledge, no woman has ever actually spent their Tupperware points. Women just keep them, forever. Like doilies or something.

I just smiled and said, “That’s great, dear” until the G.M. Finance lost her Tupperware Buzz at about 4 a.m.

At that point, even though I had an overwhelming male need to walk through the house, smoking a cigar, drinking beer and scratching myself — just to rebalance the male-female hormonal levels in my home — I did not do so for two very good reasons.

First, I do not have a death wish.

Second, I have no desire to be buried in Tupperware.


And if you are a mother whose kids are making you crazy, and you need to laugh, so badly, GO HERE! You will love Kris’ children. You just won’t want her children!



2 Responses to “Crack is Nothing Compared to Tupperware”

  1. Lillian L. says:

    Tupperware rules! I have some pieces that I got well over, ahh humm…I’ll just say many moons ago, and it’s all still good to this day.

    Hope you enjoyed the beer and nachos since, sadly, it was Johnny football who handed the Sooners their ass in Stoops helmet. I’d say he earned the Heisman Trophy!

    • hams says:

      Tupperware can bite my Stoops. And, while I was really P.O.’d that the second-world country in which I live did not air the Cotton Bowl, I can see in hindsight this was a great gift. I would have been ropable if I had to watch that second half meltdown.

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