In the past, I've tended to use terms like "Lovecraftian nightmare" to describe vintage TV commercials that featured edible objects coming to terrifying life. I mean, a talking, disembodied hand or a lumbering pitcher of fruit-flavored drink would be, if we saw them in our everyday lives, a horror beyond comprehension.
Still, you know what? I say, good for Mr. Salty!
Though I doubt he ever really served in the Navy, he at least found someone willing to rent him a costume, and through sheer pluck, and without actually accomplishing anything more than being "crisply"--which, you know, he's a pretzel; it's like congratulating a human for having skin--he manages to get the all-white citizens of this anonymous city singing his praises. Of course, presumably after the ceremony, everyone will gather 'round and consume him, and his bland smile won't be enough to cover the unbearable pain, but at least he had his moment.
