A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... a small yellow teapot ate a spoonful of custard while standing tall on the back of a horse.  His name was Dave.
It was morning and Dave looked up toward the ball of fire in the sky.  He was feeling okay.  If asked, he would have said that he wasn't entirely happy about things because he really wanted to be a gnu, but he was considerably better off than the horse, who had a cold.  Although he did not know it, he was also far happier than the sad and lonely pelican attempting a crossword a thousand miles away in a metropolis bearing an uncanny resemblance to Bristol.  The pelican's name was Judith.  With a sigh she placed her pencil down onto the page, flapped her wings a couple of times, and exploded.
Colin, the horse, suddenly sneezed and projected a globule of equine snot a hundred miles into the distance and onto a rock.  It was not a normal rock, for its name was Keith, and the slimy goo awoke him from his six-year slumber.  He would have opened his eyes if he had any, and he would undoubtedly have grumbled at being woken-up.  He probably would have rolled over and tried to clean himself too, but Keith couldn't do any of these things.  Why?  Because Keith was a rock.
'Guzuntheit!' grumbled Keith, his telepathy being the one and only thing that set him apart from his fellow basalt.
'Nay!' replied Colin, as Dave passed him a tissue made from snow.
'Nay!' said Colin again.
What Colin had wanted to say was 'I think we should have another party.'  Sadly his rather limited vocabulary prevented him from doing so.  Frustrated, he thought instead about his favourite soup as a pelican's beak hit the floor with a thump.
Unlike here on Earth, parties on this ancient and distant land were a tradition dating back some four billion years.  A long-dead cousin of Judith had held the first.  Everyone had made their favourite soup and presented it to the others for tasting.  The winner was Barry, a small elf-like creature with a lisp and the worst dress sense imaginable.  He had been trying to iron a pair of red dungarees, dropped them in a bath which, at the time had been filled with liquidised fruit from an unk-unk tree, and then tripped and fallen in, knocking a toaster off a shelf and electrocuting himself in the process.  His award was given posthumously stuffed inside a biscuit and fired-off into deep space.  On Earth, almost a hundred years ago today it entered our atmosphere and melted out of shape.  It landed on a plate in California in the good ole US of A, where someone thought it was a neat idea.  Thus, the fortune cookie we know and love was born.