This can of sardines was as crowded as well…a can of sardines. Jerry couldn’t take it. He wanted out.
Jerry’s three brothers were all sleeping to his right, tucked in under the same metal rolling blanket as he was. Jeffrey snored. Jerry couldn’t stand it. It was one thing to be packed in a can of sardines that was as crowded as a can of sardines. That was understandable. But for one of them to snore was just ridiculous.
Jerry hoped that Jeffrey would be the first one to be eaten, but in the meantime he was packed too tight to do anything to make that happen.
Jesse and James at least had the decency to sleep soundly, silently: the same way sardines should. Jeffrey had no manners. Jerry wished that Jeffrey would pay the price. Alas, he was packed too tightly to move.
As time went on, Jerry realized that he didn’t actually want to kill his brother. He didn’t want to smother him to death with his pillow, soaked in the juice they were all bathed in to give them flavor. He didn’t want to have Jeffrey, the snoring sardine sibling, suffer a shorter span of life than the rest of the tin. No. Jerry wanted Jeffrey to wake up just in time to be eaten.
Jerry waited for the final day to come. He waited years and years, Jeffrey snoring all the while. Jesse, James, and Jeffrey stayed asleep the entire time, meaning that Jeffrey’s snoring kept Jerry awake for the same amount.
Jerry waited for the day someone would eat them. His suffering would be over. He would never have to hear that rattling, wheezing, moaning, droning snore ever again.
Jerry didn’t realize that nobody willingly eats sardines, because they’re disgusting. Jerry was trapped for eternity on a grocery store shelf, waiting to be sold.