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Bon Apitite!

By Dotty

 

It was brown.

It was grayish brown.

It was pasty grayish brown

It was in a glass pudding cup.

It was in a glass pudding cup, with a slice of egg on top.

A slice of hard-boiled egg.

 



Blair Sandburg has faced many frightening things in his life. David Lash, Alex Barnes, poisonous spiders and designer drugs were but a few of them. This, however, terrified him in a way he couldn't understand or put a name too.

Was it the brownish, grayish, pasty stuff?

Was it the slice of boiled egg?

Was it the exceptionally innocent look on his roomie's face?

He didn't know. He didn't want to know.

"Be afraid!" His inner voice whispered. "Be very afraid!"

He really wished his inner voice would shut the hell up.

It refused.

 



"Jim, what is this?" He queried in a low, soothing tone of voice.

"It's dessert, Sandburg. What does it look like?" Came the amiable answer.

Various wise-ass answers flew through Blair's mine at the speed of light.

Rod Serling would have been proud of most of them.

Deciding to stay calm, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

 



"Hmmm, OK, dessert. I can do that. What's it called?" Came the cautious answer.

Blair had stuck his spoon in the cup while asking and immediately wished he hadn't.

'It' jiggled.

'It' wiggled.

'It' made a slow sucking sound as it pulled from the side of the cup.

Blair's inner voice was now shrieking like a hormonal thirteen-year-old boy at a Britney Spears concert.

He'd never heard the word "Run!" screamed so loudly in his life.

 



"Well, you're always telling me to eat healthier, stop putting garbage in my body, yadda, yadda, yadda. I decided to take you up on it! See I was searching the net and came across these great recipes. I figured it's fish, fish is good for you, so how could I go wrong?" Jim answered benignly, looking as if his answer was the panacea to all questions about creation.

"Jim, forgive me, but what does fish have to do with dessert"?

I will be calm. I will be calm. Whatever this is, I can figure it out.

"Blair! It was so easy. Dessert! Healthy eating! You're happy! I'm happy! Everyone wins, don't you see?"

Came the joyful reply.

"What. Is. This?"

I will be calm. I will be calm.

"It's called 'Fluffy Mackerel Pudding'! Good, huh!"

 



It only took three minutes for the sound of the Volvo to have gone far enough that he couldn't hear it.

It only took ten seconds for Jim to go throw the cups off the balcony to the dumpster below.

Soon, a happy Sentinel was sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table

drinking a caffeine-loaded soda and eating half a strawberry cheesecake.

Ahh, it don't get much better than this.

Thought the contented man.

Tell me my dessert sat under the sink for weeks and molded!

 



Later, after the clean plate had been washed, the soda can hidden and all the evidence destroyed,

Jim sat back with a satisfied belch.

His last thought, before dozing off during the Jags game, was:

Damn, that kid has a girly scream!

The End