Friday, March 10, 2006


"What are you doing?" Gloria asked. She had brought home dinner from Central Markup, and I was looking at the various containers.

"I'm smelling," I said, as I sniffed a plate of vegetables. "Are these poisoned?"

"As far as I know, they don't have any garlic," she said.

"They smell fine," I said. Then I inspected a plastic bowl of potatoes. They were small potatoes, cut in half, and wrinkly. They had a hint, a whiff, of evil about them.

"For God's sake, just try one," she said. So I did.

"ACCKKKK!" I cried, after taking one small bite.

"What is it?"

"I've been poisoned," I said. "The stench of the undead is upon these potatoes."

"It's just a little garlic," she said.

"There's no such thing as just a little garlic," I said. "It's like being just a little dead."

"You can hardly taste it," she said.

"Enjoy your evil victory," I said. "I lacked the sense of self to resist you. I loathe my own weakness."

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