Arthur Graham’s Reviews > Scared Silly > Status Update

Of all Satan’s tactics however, none worked more perfectly than the Brats. There wasn’t a demon that walked the fiery brimstone that wasn’t a sucker for his brats. As long as they had an endless flow of bratwurst to fire down their gullets, all of Hell would remain firmly under his control. Brats were the smack and Satan was their dealer.

Myles did not seem the least bit upset reporting the passing of Wisconsin's latest King of the Brats. His hair coiffed like it was cast in bronze, his makeup accentuating his chiseled features and a square jawed smile that made the corn fed mamas of the Midwest swoon every night at six. The debonair, well rehearsed news man delivered the nights lead story as if it was a slow news day and this was the top fluff piece.

“You bastard! Years upon years of work are WASTED because of YOU! You couldn’t just eat the wolfberry you black void of health, potato chip eating waste of an excuse for a human being. I curse your father’s testicles!”
“There you go always bringing up male organs you gay wolf! You can take your wolfberries and stick them up your ass since you love it in your ass you gay mangy dog!”

It was Friday afternoon. By late Monday morning the effects of the wolfberries would begin to take effect. Dr. Melvin Edwards would have to impatiently wait out the weekend. That was the price you had to pay for microcellular lycanthropic change.

“I’m coming for you all tomorrow!” The droning of thousands of senior citizens complaining about children, television programs and the way things are nowadays suddenly stopped. “But tonight I’m taking my lady friend home with me to show her what it’s like to play with Death!” He turned and winked at her as she returned a wicked smile back at him. The old people on the beach broke into thunderous applause.

“Everyone’s job sucks but we gotta do it right? It’s easy to lose focus when you're a slave to the grind day in and day out. You just have to remember to take time out for yourself when you start sinking in the work. If your heart isn’t in the work you're just not doing the job even though you're there. You gotta get a life Death, that’s part of the job too brother.”

The doorbell rang. Death answered it. A mop-haired blonde guy looking every bit the part of the cliché surfer stood at Death's door. Death sighed wistfully; he didn’t want to deal with anyone.

Sean could never, in his life, have prepared for the pain of falling onto a steel shopping cart buttock first. Sean felt as if his ass had been beaten by a gang of midgets wearing brass knuckles, it was the most unpleasant pain he had ever experienced in his life.

Gobs of flaming cleaner shot through the air and landed on the approaching blobs of cheese. Due to the foaming action of the cleanser, the wads of flame clung to the mozzarellas bodies and made the damage much worse. Quickly, the cheese bodies began to brown and then bubble before charring solid. The smell of ammonia and melting cheese made the air smell like a pizzeria in a hospital.

Whole chickens battled to break free of their shrink wrapped confines while their chicken leg cousins sprung from their packages and hopped about like pogo sticks. Sausages of all kinds rolled and slithered along the floor. Pork chops, still dripping with the blood they were packaged with, stood on the same curious black legs that the macaroni and cheese and boxes of pasta were walking around on.