Food Fighting

“Surrender!” I yelled from across the kitchen. The two eggs that were perched on the counter next to the stove were dragging a small sized frying pan closer and closer to the already glowing orange burner. I couldn’t do anything to stop them. All I could do was sit and watch what was happening; my feet unable to move. They began to spill butter into the pan, smiling at my obvious look of displeasure upon my face. It made hissing noises as it hit the sleek pan. My terror mixed with my distaste for eggs was making it impossible to just walk over to the eggs and stop them. So I watched in horror as the two eggs took off each other’s gleaming shells. Each shed its shell and slipped into the bubbling spa-like pan. I watched as their once opaque flesh singed into dense, opal essence, slabs of fried egg. I needed to puke. Imagining the smug eggs sliding down my throat was enough to make me faint...
I was at Olive Garden, eating yummy food. I often dream ofOlive Garden. The best food at Olive Garden, possibly the world, is their breadsticks. They have these golden brown markings running down their length, that taste of toasted garlic and butter. You can order this Alfredo sauce to dip them in. It is heaven. It has orgasm causing ingredients. Sorry, it just gets me going thinking about it. Just thinking about shoving one of those white sauce covered sticks into my mouth gets me drooling.
The drool slipped innocently from the girl’s lips and onto the cool skin of the avocado inside the open brown bag. She had fallen asleep 22 minutes earlier just as she was about to cut the waiting vegetable in half. She wanted to eat it for lunch. She had come home especially from her can-counting job just to eat the avocado. She bought it two days before from a roadside produce market. They boasted 3 avocados for a dollar, and other low low low prices for quality produce. So she came home to eat her avocado on her half hour lunch break. She took out her Ginsu knife of her white drawer full of other miscellaneous knives. She removed the avocado from the crinkly brown bag and set it on the stale onion scented cutting board. She gripped the contour handle of her beloved knife and made a go for the naive avocado. The avocado hadn’t known what was coming; it just stood unaware of everything except for the large wooden pit in its succulent center. Little did the avocado know...the girl was about to be overcome with an uncontrollable urge to sleep. She came crashing down atop the soft avocado. She slept through the rest of her can-counting shift.
Peaches, the corner whore, downshifted. The gears squealed in protest. She had not driven a stick in years, and she had never quite learned the art of shifting. Sitting in the passenger seat was 50 pounds of 98% hamburger. Peaches glanced at the defrosting ground beef as she pulled into the Fast and Easy liquor mart. After she grabbed some condoms and a slurpee, she was off to her next customer. She was to meet him at a hotel in the next town over, which made it impossible to get there by city roads, she would have to venture out onto the jam-packed interstate. She grabbed a 3-pack of Trojan lubricated, and filled a waxy drink cup with red-flavored slurpee. She returned to the car and stared at the hamburger. "Here goes...” she sighed. Peaches then began to unwrap each of the trays of hamburger and glopped the contents on the seat. The juice began to collect in the crease of the leather upholstery. After discarding the cellophane wrappers and Styrofoam, Peaches began to knead the hamburger like dough. She smushed and smashed and squished the cold hamburger, each time stepping back, making faces like that of an art critic. The lump of hamburger began to take shape: head, arms, torso, legs. After 35 minutes, Peaches was satisfied with her work. She got into the driver's side and sped off, the gears squealing again. You could see her getting onto the interstate from the parking lot, and then immediately cutting across 4 lanes of traffic to the free flowing carpool lane. Peaches and her hamburger passenger drove away passing all that dreadful traffic. I awoke to the nasty smell of eggs, burning eggs. I pulled myself from the linoleum and rubbed my eyes. I saw the pan of black eggs. I wasn’t afraid anymore. They were dead. I threw the pan into the sink and laughed exaggeratedly. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a doggy bag from the night before. There was steak in that bag. I popped it into the microwave and pushed the timer to cook for 2 minutes. Grabbing a fork from the drawer below, I inhaled the sweet smell of beef. It cleared my nose of any remnants of egg stench. Steaming and sizzling I pulled the steak out. I sat and ate the steak right there over the sink, making sure to mock the blackened putrid eggs every chance I got. I never offered the dead eggs anything.
I felt sorry for a second right after I finished my steak, when I was rinsing my fork off. Then I remembered the smug looks they gave me, so I simply scraped them off the pan and washed them down the drain. I flipped the garbage disposal switch as my steak did happy cartwheels in my belly. I really love steak.