The Midnight Mailman and Mr. Happy Puppet Head in:
"Price Check on Aisle DANGER!"
* * * *
At the local B&S, items are marked drastically down.
None of the cans in the canned food aisle have labels on them. Instead, they are divided into three sections with signs demarcating which section is which. Our options are "Good," "Edible," and "No."
Bread items are piled onto one large squished, stale, moldy display.
The Vegetables are shriveled and the fruit is bruised. Lettuce looks like Oregano and Pears like Avocados. There are no Tomatos anywhere.
The samples are dumped in a pile on the floor.
A frightened squirrel is somehow tied to my shopping cart.
The woman behind the Deli Counter stares vacantly at me, her hands wrapped in soiled plastic gloves, her hair in a net. I point and ask her what a specific item is, exactly. She shrugs her shoulders and blinks. “It’s fried chicken with Bar-B-Que sauce on it.” I ask her how old it is and she says she doesn’t’ know.
Next to the worst Bar-B-Que chicken ever are various chunks of animals wrapped tightly in shrink-wrap. Some look like whole animals, fur and all. I don’t ask her about these.
Mr. Happy Puppet Head is chewing on something. I ask him what it is and where he got it.
“From the sample pile over there,’ he gestures behind him.
“That’s a trash pile,” I tell him.
“No, it’s pretty good.” He crunches loudly on whatever garbage he’s decided is food. Bits of lint and part of a dirty napkin cling to his mustache. “Where’s the bathroom?”
We find that someone has barricaded the men’s bathroom with a large pile of label-less cans of food. “I guess we’ll have to wait ‘til we get home,” I shrug.
“Yeah right. I have to piss.” He knocks over much of the pile and yanks the door open with his teeth. I follow, fighting for my balance as I make my way over all the cans.
Inside, the air is bitter and chill. There is only one toilet sitting in the far left corner of the surprisingly large, dimly lit room. Six inches of water covers the floor and I can see that the walls are layered with dark mold. A drip drip drip from the sink echoes loudly.
I don't like this room at all.
“This place sucks.” As Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles to the toilet, a Water Monster lunges from the filthy porcelain with a WHOOSH! It snaps jagged water-teeth furiously at the air directly in front of my friend, growling and frothing all over the place.
I jump straight backwards, diving for the door. My feet slip from under me and I crash to the floor in a soggy pile of cans and rolls of waterlogged toilet paper. “Mr. Happy Puppet Head!” I shout.
Mr. Happy Puppet Head stops and studies the translucent horror in front of him, miraculously standing inches outside of the monster’s reach.
“Wait your turn, dick-stain,” as he starts pissing his candy-smelling puppet urine all over the snarling Monster. “Hey, you think that girl at the Deli Counter wants me? I like older chicks with braces.”
End Chapter ONE.