Hidden Valley Continuation

Ranch dressing is just so innocent. It can come in packets, bottles, maybe even as a crusty topping to a pretzel. None of this warrants a sadistic murder. The events of the murder were most likely as follows

A disgruntled Loyola student exited the cafeteria in hysteria. In his left hand, lay a salad. Poorly tossed, minimal onions, and a lot of croutons. In his right hand lay the perfect packet. A supple, plump, plastic bag of the white rain; Hidden Valley Ranch. As he exited the cafeteria, his heart rate rose. He knew what he was doing. The salad was just a ploy. "How could they not see past me. Poorly tossed? No onions and a lot of croutons...what fools!" You see the salad was a trick. A trick to get his hands on the ranch packet. You cannot just walk out of the cafeteria dawning a lone packet of dressing. As he walked the familiar path, his gaze straightened and his grin widened.

Ever since the incident, he had always hated ranch dressing. About three years ago, a lone freshman on the first week of classes stepped into his shower to start the day. As he applied his shampoo, he smelt something a little funky, but continued his morning ritual anyway. As he began to dry his hair, it hid him. "Those fuckers!" His roommates had switched his Dove Men's extra Moisturizing shampoo to some good old fashioned white cream: Hidden Valley Ranch. The smell was unbearable. Imagine the smell of moist hair, coupled with the mixture of warm water and buttermilk ranch dressing. His first week of classes was plagued by the smell. Everyone avoided him. The only friend that he had was that smell that followed him everywhere. But it was no friend of his, it became his enemy. Imagine earning the nickname Hidden Valley Harry your first week of college classes.

As he approached senior housing he looked to his left, right, front, and rear. The only witness was a squirrel too busy with his nuts and a cat too engaged in attacking the squirrel. He gently placed his victim on the curb, petted it, and stepped back. He ditched the salad in the bushes, hiding any evidence of his most recent purchase. He raised his right heel and thrusted it towards the packet. The last thing that ranch packet saw was the heel of a Nike Air Max plummeting towards its "tear here" tab. SPLOOOOOSH. The packet exploded as its sides tore apart secreting its contents for the whole world to see. Hidden Valley Harry looked upon his victim with disdain, licked his shoe to get just a taste of vengeance, and strutted away. A trail of ranch blood followed him a few steps and slowly faded away. The deed was done. Hidden Vally Harry was no more...he had become the Hidden Valley Slayer.

RIP Hidden Valley Ranch Packet. Your bitter, sour sauce changed many a boring salads into explosions of flavor and lust.