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Veteran Pillsbury spokesman Pop N. Fresh died yesterday of a severe yeast infection.
He was 71.

Fresh was buried in one of the largest funeral ceremonies in recent years. Dozens of celebrities turned out including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker and the Hostess Twinkies.

The graveside was piled high with flours, as long time friend Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, describing Fresh as the man who "never knew how much he was kneaded".

Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with many turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting most of his dough on half-baked schemes. Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model for millions.

Fresh is survived by his second wife -- they have two children and one in the oven.
The funeral was held at 4:25 for about 20 minutes.

Humor of the day

December 26, 1999

Dear Santa,

You must be surprised that I''m writing to you today, the 26th of December. Well I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter.

I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school.

I''m not going to lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better than me, with my parents, my brothers, my friends, and with my neighbors. I would go on errands, and even help the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity.

What balls do you have leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a stupid whistle, and a pair of socks? What the fuck were you thinking you fat son of a bitch?!

That you have taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn''t fucked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the street so many toys that he can''t even walk into his house.

Don''t let me see you trying to fit your big ass down my chimney next year. I''ll fuck you up. I''ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you''ll have to walk back to the fucking North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn''t get me that fucking bike.

FUCK YOU SANTA. Next year you''ll find out how bad I can be, you FAT-SON-OF-A-BITCH!

Sincerely,
Little Johnny