“Psssst. Hey buddy, come here I want to talk to you.”
“Who, me?” I said as I looked around my kitchen in alarm.
“Yes you, moron. Who else? There are a few things I think we need to discuss, pronto.”
The voice seemed to be coming from the vicinity of my kitchen counter. Actually, I could swear that my sandwich bread was talking to me.
“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. Did you just say something?”
“Yeah, I did. What’s the problem?”
“No problem really, it’s just I’m not used to being addressed by a moldy loaf of bread in a plastic bag.”
“Well get used to it, bub. Letting your food sit on your shelves and in your fridge for as long as you have, it was only a matter of time before one of us became self aware.”
“Oh come on now, you haven’t been here that long. I mean, it’s only been what, a week?”
“Try six. At week four I became mobile and just last week I grew an eye. By the way, you might want to think about closing the bathroom door in the morning. You’re not to high on the good-looks scale when you’re sitting on the toilet and I think I’m growing a nose.”
“Hey, this is my apartment and I don’t need a moldy piece of bread telling me what I can and can’t do in my own home. In fact…wait a minute. I can’t believe I’m arguing with a piece of bread.”
I resisted the urge to kick this Wonder Bread reject’s ass and instead grabbed a nearby fork and stabbed myself in the forearm in the hopes of waking myself up from what was obviously some drug induced nightmare. Unfortunately, all I managed to do was draw some blood and make Bread giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Ow!”
“Damn, I can’t believe you’re that stupid. Did it hurt?”
“Hell yeah, that hurt. You want me to stab you with a fork and see how much you like it?”
“Hey, don’t get pissed off at me, bub. I’m not the one who stabbed you with a fork remember? You did that all by yourself.”
“Whatever. You wanted to discuss something?”
I figured that as long as I was stuck in this daydream, hallucination or a fever-dream brought on by bad Mexican food, I might as well listen. Who knows, maybe Salma Hayek or Jessica Alba would make an appearance later on and make stabbing myself in the arm with a fork worthwhile. With my luck though, I’d wind up with Cheech Marin in a dress.
“You’re darn tooting I want to discuss something. Do you realize you haven’t updated your web site in a week? People crave content man, and this is an election week. It’s no time to slack off.”
“How the hell does a moldy piece of crap like you know about my web site?”
“I use the computer while you’re sleeping. By the way, I think I may have accidentally signed you up to a few bread-porn mailing lists. If you start getting mail from hotbutter.com for Wundrrbun don’t delete it. It’s for me.”
“Well, I have been a little busy working you know. And I did mention in my last post that my computer is modem-less right now which tends to make it a little difficult to update a web site. And anyway, I write to keep myself entertained, not to cater to some faceless and anonymous group of people I’ve never met and will most likely never meet.”
“Oh yeah? Then why do you check your site’s logs every friggen day, huh?”
“I’m uh, just checking to make sure I don’t exceed my bandwidth allotment. Yeah, that’s it. Checking bandwidth.”
Bread’s moldy eyeball just stared at me in disbelief.
“Your pathetic, do you know that?”
“OK, you win. I’ll update on Sunday. Are you happy now?”
“Hey buddy, I’m just trying to help you out. Want to see that visitor count go up? Want to win the Bloggie for Best Article or Essay about Web Logs? Then you better give your visitors what they want.”
“And just what do my visitors want?”
“After a thoroughly scientific and unbiased poll of your readership I’ve found that what your visitors most want is pictures of hot, slightly melted butter in sexy poses and lingerie.”
Bread was practically drooling as he said this. His one eye burning with desire as he willed me to believe that my visitors wanted to see Land O’ Lakes slathered on a Victoria’s Secret bra.
“All right that’s it. I’ve had just about enough of you and your shenanigans. I think it’s high time that a famous, naked, sexy woman shows up who will do my bidding for the rest of this dream sequence. With big, perky boobies.”
“Yeah, right. Good luck on that one, bub.”
“Look, it’s not too much to ask OK? I put up with you and your butter fetish, I stabbed myself with a fork and I’ve agreed to update my site. All I ask in return is three minutes with an imaginary supermodel or movie star. Or Janet Jackson. Now that’s a mighty fine woman, and who could resist that alluring smile?”
“Of all the idiots on the planet I have to get stuck with their king. Calgon, take me away.”
I think you should have stabbed the bread!
anyway, it’s true that you don’t have to keep your audience entertained because when you take the opportunity, you do such a great job!
this is just hilarious. I love it!
And you’re probably the only finalist who doesn’t actually need to try any further. Credo is already writ. Fab tale, anyway. Nearly wet myself.
High Times: Did you know that LSD comes from ergotamine, which in turn comes from a bread-mould whose name I forget?
(Anne Robinson voice): Which one of you has been at the acid?
Well, i have a 486 DX2 on my keyring. And a Pentium MMX 200. And some keys, funnily enough.
I also have a pendant made from AGP connectors.
I never ran a computer store. Honest.
PS: STAB THE WONDER BREAD.
(amen joyce)
Now i’ve posted, it occurs to me i should have put my first post in the previous comment section. Damnation.
Delete the comment, TMG!
There was this one time I was looking through the contents of the second shelf and I heard this tiny sneeze from the shelf above. When I looked up there everything was normal until the mayonnaise started screaming “It was him! It was the lettuce!” but I’ve never managed to persuade the lettuce to sneeze for me again since.
This, coming from the guy who wrote a FRIGGING POEM to slag on everyone who didn’t update over Christmas… oh yes, Mr. Slacker, we know where you live.
The bread is just the beginning, boyo – just you wait until my specially-trained army of fruitcakes shows up.
This is serious, we could make you delirious. You should have a healthy fear of us. Too much of us is dangerous. No, no, no, no! Doctors tell the pharmacy, the types of pills that you will need. And he knows the harm that we can be, if we’re not taken carefully. We’re not candy, even though we look so fine and dandy. When you’re sick, we come in handy BUT we’re not candy. Ohhh no…
Stay off the junk, GeekMan! No more crazy ass dreams!
I see you have misplaced ur mind again geeky..
Wow I don’t know how I got here, but I decided that I would read anyways, and all I have to say is that you are fricken wierd dude. lol But hey it was a great… uh whatever it was, it was pretty funny. I think that I will add this page to my favorites so I can check up on it. :)