Hawaiians love things in gallon jars. Pickled eggs, vienna sausage, all manner of cracked seed, dried seaweed, and cookies. We got a gallon jar of cookies for Xmas. To die for. A gallon of little cookies. Oxycontin for the mouth.
So, when the word comes down that I have terminal cancer – which family history says in a definite possibility – bring on a case of morphine and a gallon of School Kine Cookies.