Horror has a name, and that name is Fruitcake!
This is my 100th post, and to celebrate, I am holding my first annual Story Contest. It's very easy. All you have to do is write a story about the horrors of Fruitcake. Behold the horror in its various forms. All the hideous candied fruit, and you may have been the 666th person to receive this very fruitcake. If so, woe betide you.
The contest will run through January 5th, at which point we will vote on the stories. First prize will be an autographed copy of my and the ghost's book. If you already have one, I'll select something of equal value to award you. The alternate prize is most likely in better taste. If my story wins, I'll donate the price of one of my books to the World Health Organization's mental health division. Do not feel like you have to vote for my story. I am a novelist, and I acknowledge that my short stories are generally pretty foolish.
May the most malevolent fruitcake win!
Lily
'Twas the night before Xmahannuramakwanzyule and the Netherworld Hotel was at last quiet. The members of Death Cheese had fallen into a drunken stupor after playing till 3:33 AM. The Cheesemeister sneaked down to the pantry for a snack, hoping to find some cheese, fruit, chocolate, and maybe a little leftover wine--the classy kind from the box, not the rancorous rot gut that the members of Death Cheese favored.
The stair creaked, which did not particularly bother the Cheesemeister. Everything in the Netherworld Hotel was on the verge of falling apart. But when the clock suddenly struck the hour, it made her jump. That wouldn't have been so bad, but a chill went up her spine as she realized the clock had struck 6. Worse, when she looked at the clock, a simple old-fashioned grandfather clock with hands rather than digits, she noticed that the hour, minute and second hand were all pointing to the number 6. The clock face suddenly showed a malevolent, sharp-toothed grin, and the Cheesemeister jumped back. All around her were clocks indicating the number 666. Even the clock around Flavor Flav's neck when he sat upright from his drunken resting place on the lobby couch read 666, and the normally funny Flav had an evil grin on his gleaming grill.
"Yo, G, I guess you know what TIME IT IS!" he smirked wickedly.
It was then that The Cheesemeister screamed, for she heard a stomping on the roof. And then lunatic laughter echoed from the fireplace. Someone was up the chimney hole and Satan was his name.
"Ho ho ho, Cheesemeister!" laughed Unsaintly Nick. "You've been bad this year, like always, and you know it. But this year you will receive nothing so pleasant as coal. No, this year the price of being bad is truly unspeakable."
And with that, the wicked old elf tossed some sort of baleful object down the chimney. It steamed with the fires of hell and reeked of brimstone. And then the Cheesemeister's shrill keening filled the lobby of the dilapidated, cursed inn of the damned. For the thing opened its eyes and mouth. It lived! Or perhaps, more likely it lived not, and yet it moved. A malevolent intelligence shone in its glowing red eyes and in the clots of ancient candied fruit that adorned its hardened flesh. For this was the oldest fruitcake in the Universe, and Satan had chosen the Cheesemeister to receive it.
"Take care of your new pet, Cheesy One," Satan called down the chimney. "Or my new latrine cleaner for eternity shall be named. I bet you can guess what her name is too!"
As Flavor Flav took a swig of rancorous rot gut, The Cheesemeister sunk to the floor of the Netherworld Hotel lobby. She was stuck with the Universe's oldest fruitcake. She couldn't destroy it, she couldn't re-gift it and she definitely couldn't return it.
"Oh,woe betide me this Yuletide" she sighed. "Whatever shall I do? What are the chances that I'll get through the year without Soggy trying to eat that thing or Axe Man trying to chop it to bits? I'm doomed, doomed doomed!"
For extra atmosphere, here is the band that just may be Death Cheese's biggest influence.
14 comments:
Pansi the Peace Maker!!!!
This isent reely a story cuz its like, true? But when I toled it to Brittney she sayed it was horrable enough!!!!
So, like, I use to be a cheerleader in Gondor during the War of the Ring's? And, oh, I forgot to say I am a reel good cook, but usualy I use my brane wave's cuz its easyer than remembering when to tern off the micro wave!!!!
But anyhoo, I was there, and there was a hole Barby army led by a Hermiony doll who was reely meen, and so were the other's I don't think they were true Christinane's!! Like, this one time I was shot in the head with an arrow and no body toled me!!!!! Like, the hole DAY I was going around with this arrow stuck in my head!!!!
But I did the best I coud becuz I'm Christinane and me and my Barby freind's did cheer's like Gimme a N-I-T-E--whats it spell?--NITE!!! GoooooOO NITE'S!!!!!! But they still dint seem to apresheate me much wile they were buzy slautering and whatEVER.
SO THEN I started to wonder were these peeple reely so nice and why were they fiting about Julery anyhoo??? And I met some Orc prisner's becuz some time's Hermyony made me go where they were holding them becuz she sayed I was anoying (as IF!!)!!
So I desided to make the Orc's some FRUIT CAKE!!!!! I am reely good at making FRUIT CAKE!!!! Most peeple tell me right off just looking at my FRUIT CAKE's is so grate they dont even want to EAT them!!!!
It was hard to cook on the battle feild of coarse. I was reel suprised to see Hermiony's Barby cook kept her flower in a bag marked Cement!!!!
And it was reel hard to deliver the FRUIT CAKE's becuz Hermyowny sayed it was fraternitizing with the ennemy or some thing!!!!! So we lobbed them over with the catapult's and then I snuck over becuz I just had to see the affect they had on my Orc freind's.
Woud you beleave me they had all reddy started in on there speshal treat becuz they were laying all over the grass to full to move!!!!! The poor thing's!!! Some of them had big bruzes on there head's from the battle but the FRUIT CAKE soothed them becuz take it from some one who was marryed to Dicky for a long time--they were feeling no pain!!!!! Probly all the Bud Lite I put in!!! And other's were obvuously enjoying thereselves so much they were acshualy RITHING on the ground unable to find word's to express there pleasure!!!!
And it was a truely Christinane gesture becuz beleave it or not even Hermyony was affected by the site and helped me make more and more and MORE fruit cake's and even sayed my fruit cake's were importent in helping win the war!!!
Which was no suprize to me cuz like my Freind JESUS say's (no--NOT THE JANITER!!!!) Blessed are the Peacemaker's!!!! If He woud of thot of it Im sure He woud of sayed: Blessed are the FRUIT CAKE MAKER's!!!!!!
The End!!!!!
I think Hermione was just afraid Harry Potter might fall in love with you. That was an amazing use for fruitcake! You're too cool, PANSI!
PANSI, it is true. I am dazzled by the beauty of the fruit cake you prepare and this is why I can never bear to eat it. But I do carry one with me as a Holy Weapon when I go to rough parts of town.
Frut kake delishus with sid of Spam! Yummo!
Axe agree with Soggy. Onley problum iz frut kake brake Axe axe when Axe chop frut kake.
This definitely sounds like fun. I'm not good at fiction, though it's the only thing I read. I'll have to think about this.
And my story was GOOD?? :-p
You can always write a true fruitcake anecdote, like PANSI did. Although I must say, it's going to be hard to top that!
I'm going to try this, but the first thing that comes to mind is Lord Dunsany's Two Jars of Relish. Not that there's anything wrong with plagiarism.
As long as it's done on the sly and among people ignorant of the work, great things can be accomplished with plagiarism! >;-)
Until 5th of January you say. I'll contemplate on this.
I will also contemplate on this. I am thinkin... maybe too hard!
My Entry.
The night was as a deep purple haze. Drifting, the clouds of gray and stony colors passed over the rampant moon unhinged; white light cooler than a morgue rack poured down, sifting though. On the corner, Brendon looked away as two street whores dressed in yellow and teal 80’s knit belted out a Christmas tune, twitching and rubbing together their dirty shoulders. On the pavement, Brendan’s shoes clicked as he walked wordlessly. He stepped on, empty of anything definite stewing in his chest or mind.
The smell of leather surrounded him, his coat permitted this, but it didn’t remove the bitter taste of asphalt, piss and rank steam from the sewers. In the distance, he saw Christmas lights dangling in the covered window of an old bar. Straight ahead boy, that’s where its at, he thought to himself.
On the way there, he saw a glimmering red stone on the ground, all surrounded in an ethereal mist. It caught his eye and shifted his footing. Stumbling, he bent down to examine it further. The gems were encrusted on a hard, brownish surface. A blackish slime was all around it and it felt spongy and cool in his hand, though its weight did surprise him. Looking at his hand by the shine of the streetlight, he saw that bright crimson drip. Shit!!! He exclaimed as he dropped it back to the ground. Murder? Blood?
Smelling it, he noticed a sweetness beneath that unsurprisingly powerful smell of iron. Was that nutmeg?
End of Entry.
The First Sunrise
Once upon a time, there was a big chicken. The chicken lived on a farm. The farm was very very dark. This chicken did not like the dark. Even though he was very very large, he still would cry at night in his chicken bed in the haystack. The chickens mother was very mad at him. She did not understand why he was so scared of the dark. She would smack him hard on the beak when he would come to her at night with tears in his eyes.
“mommy chicken, why is it so dark here where we live?” he would ask his mother during the day.
“It is the way that it is son. Live with it and stop being so stupid.” his mother would say. So the chicken would try his best to stay calm and not cry at night alone in his bed.
One day, a strange light appeared over the barn. All the other chickens began to panic. They began running around in circles. One of them even pecked a hole in the ground and stuck his head in the dirt. The young chickens mother looked at him. Her eyes were ablaze with fire. She was raging mad. He was the one that brought this light to the farm, wasn’t he? Bad! Bad chicken! Why would he change everything for the rest of them? How inconsiderate?!
But it wasn’t the young chicken that brought this light. It was only a huge white-hot ball of light, rising higher and higher above the horizon. The young chicken jumped with joy after breaking away from his mothers hideous stare. Yay! Yaaayyy!!!! He bathed in the warmth and lifted his wings so the light touched every inch of his birdie body. Just while he began to laugh with joy, he was struck on the side of the head by a heavy wing. It was his mother, more angry than ever.
“How dare you mock me!”
“mommy!” he cried out, surprised and scared.
“all the family is dying, out here in your stupid light! Make it gone! Get back in your bed and cry you fool!”
The chicken ran back to his bed, his eyes full of tears, and his beak wet. He cried so hard that he thought his lungs would burst. Outside, he heard his family screaming and hiding and trying everything to get the light to go away. His uncle was pleading to the air to make the light go away. His aunt was beating the ground on her knees, fearful that the world would end. His cousin had gone crazy, saying strange sounds that sounded wild. All of these things, he heard while crying in his bed.
After a few hours had gone by, the family outside finally began to calm down. The chickens mother was also in a better mood when she noticed that the bright white light was going down. Still, nobody trusted him. They locked the door where he slept and watched the ball of light throughout the day.
By the time they were all ready for bed, the large light had gone away. They quickly went back to their quiet ways and back to the way things were before the light came. This night, the young chicken was not so scared. He laughed at how scared the others were, of the light that he loved. He did not mock them. He did not laugh at them when they were scared, the way his mother laughed at him. He pleaded to anyone in his sleep, to bring that light back, everyday. And ,… he got that wish.
The end.
Of course I may finish this story in time... may I resubmit it? (pulling my hair out, chastising..."i messsed up, I MESSED UPPP!!!")
You didn't mess up--you aren't even late! It's an eleventh hour entry into the mix--now we'll actually have a vote! Cool!
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