Franki Button Shoeshine and her invisible friend, Chuck, were alone. Parents gone (a blessing, considering her level of cabin fever; her entire adolesence, she'd refused to be the girl who constantly fought with her parents, and now that her body declared adulthood, she wasn't about to start!) and pouring down rain. There wasn't much to do, though. Or to eat.
Halfway through the UK version of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" with added commentary by Richard O'Brien (whom she thought was absolutely beautiful as Riff-Raff) and Patricia Quinn, Chuck could no longer ignore the angry beast who had taken up residence within Franki's internal organs.
"Oh, for Larry's sake! Go get something to eat!"
"Well, I could," Franki lazed, flexing her feet propped against the wall, then shrugging her shoulders hanging off the edge of the couch. "Or, I can make you get me something..."
"Hmmm, you know, I would, if it weren't for this little thing called being 'non-coporial' and stuff."
Franki groaned. "Fine, if you're going to go all physics-verses-perception on me, I'll get it myself." She paused the disc, then dismounted the couch, sticking the landing on her bum, then headed to the kitchen. Chuck promptly took her spot, as it was the most comfortable in the house. Though, his comfort was disturbed as a blood-curdling scream gouged at his ears.
"Franki! What is it? What's wrong?" Chuck demanded as he zapped into the kitchen.
"...Look..."
Chuck took a gander and growled. "That's you big, frightful emergency? An empty shelf?"
"Not just that! The whole fridge is sparse! Look -- barely a cup of milk! And here -- only one pickle left in the jar! ONE!!! How am I expected to continue with so few vinegar-engorged cucumber bits? Oh, Chuck! It's a tragedy!"
"Well, okay, the refrigerator is somewhat lacking. Try the pantry, or the attic, or the cupbords. You never know, cupbords have actually been known to hold food and other cool items."
"Yeah... but..." Franki guiltily grabbed her shoulder. "All that food is... unprepared!"
" 'Unprep--' Shame on you! You're a cook, for speaking at high decibles!"
"I know. But at a crummly resturant. With a complete collection of needed ingrediants stored at my fingertips. And a very strict chart dictating exactly how much of what goes where. A zombified monkey minion could do it!"
"I can't allow that kind of talk. All that whining is an insult to zombified minions everwhere -- simian or no!"
Franki sighed. "You're right. Okay, let's see what we've got."
The two ransacked the kitchen storage units, as well as the attic, which yielded a slightly smaller selection of breads and fried rodents than had been expected, and gathered up anything that looked delicious, healthy, or physically attractive, in attempt to create a late-night snack fit for an upper-middle-class drag queen.
The first attempt, which included a pudding mix, four strips of bacon, and the last pickle, was somewhat less than desirable.
The second, deemed "Pickle-juice fish fingers, rotisserie style, on a bed of torn-up peta" was a step in the right direction, however that step was taken in stilletto heels that sent the whole expariment toppling.
As Franki cleaned up the soggy fish fingers and now-pocketless bread, she got her inspiration for the third attempt, which was bound to be the charm.
Using a needle with which she was highly skilled, and barely-cooked pasta for thread, she sewed together a dastardly collaboration of assorted nutrition, assembled according to the food pyramid blueprint; at the foot, two loaves of crunchy bagguettes (after first playing with them, reinacting the Charlie Chaplin "Table Ballet" scene).
Stacked atop the loaves were a pillar of vegetables -- carrots, broccoli, celery, and kimchi -- and one of fruits -- bananas, apples, oranges, and grapes (which were exceedingly difficult to keep in place) -- with a tomato vine to join them at the top, because she wasn't entirely sure where that one should go.
Above that, a large cheese wheel she happened to find hidden in the basement among the Christmas decorations, the jug of little milk, an a heart-shaped container of strawberry cream-cheese which was supposed to be centered, but fell slightly to the right.
Now that it had gotten so tall, Franki decided it was time to add to the sides, so building off the the top, in two opposite directions ("Symmetry, my dear Chuck"), heavy, dangling strings of meat -- fish, chicken, beef, and even Spam, though it was almost a toss-away.
The creation was both T-shaped and incomplete-looking, and so, instead of disrupting the symmetry of her horrible creation, she added to the center part, at the very top, a box of Japanese-imported breakfast cereal, Happy Sugar Pow Yes!
"Only one more thing to add." She muttered to herself.
"What? You cleaned this place out!"
"This!" she brought out a jar half-filled with green liquid, sloshing about, with seeds, and wedged it inside the top of the cereal box.
"What is it with you and pickles, anyway?"
"I like pickles."
Finally, Franki stood back and stared at her creation, and, with rubber-clad fingers tented, demanded that Chuck "Pull the Lee-ver!"
"Lee-ver?"
"You know, the mad-scientist light switch I installed last spring, that no one seems to have noticed, yet. I want to give this moment some ambiance."
"Oh, right!" Chuck stands by the back door, throws the lee-ver, and at that very moment, lightning strikes the house, forcing the electrical appliances to all start at once, lights to flicker, and everything to send out bits of bolts, as if they all wanted to be Jacob's Ladders when they grew up, zapping at the nutritious cacophany resting on the metal-top cutting table.
Franki, who loves when the oddness happens, forgot her hunger, and started cheering and jumping in place, shouting, "Huzzah!"
Seconds later, after everything shorted out, and things were quiet, Chuck decided it was time to make his girl find a flashlight. They searched the house in the dark, and found only a candle and some matches, which worked well enough. Though, upon returning to the kitchen, they found that the cutting table, though a bit stained, was bare.
"Who took my midnight snack?!" Franki searched the room, directing the candle-light as best as she could, but no theif could be found.
Suddenly, Chuck grabbed Franki, hyperventellating in fear. "I think it stole itself!" he whispered, pointing at the trail of juices, crumbs, and detatched grapes along the floor.
"Good work, Scooby! Now, let's see where this trail leads -- I swear that I will have my snack and eat it, too! Mwahahahaha-- what a weird phrase... Have my snack... eat it... why wouldn't I eat... ? Regardless!" Franki started following the foodie bits grunging up the carpet, reluctant Chuck in tow.
The trail went room-temperature in the laundry room. Franki crouched to the floor to inspect the final traces very closely. "A-ha!"
"A-ha, what? What did you find?... And where did you get that magnifying glass?"
"Look -- a red thread, freyed on one end, with a soap flake attatched."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that thing stole my socks, and could be anywhere!"
"How? You're foot's, like, a size eight -- those bagguettes were twelve inches, at least!"
"We must stand back-to-back, protect each other!"
"Okay, but I don't know how much protection I'll be, since i'm--"
"Yes, you're an Invisible Friend, but it's a food-creature, brought to life by a storm and suspended pause-i-ness in the Rocky scene of 'Rocky Horror' -- which is least likely?"
"Point taken."
They travelled through the house, crab-style, covering each-other's back. Down stairs, around rooms, up dumbwaiters, through trap-doors, when, finally, shuffelling down a hallway, Franki stopped.
"It's here. I can tell. I can feel its presence... and smell its brains... I knew pickle-juice brains would come in handy!"
As if on cue, a vinegar-y green drop landed on the tip of Franki Shoeshine's nose. Both looked up. The anime girl on the cereal box glared down.
Franki threw out her arms, sending Chuck spiralling, and cried, "It's aliiiiiiive!!!!"
The food creature lept off the cealling and started running.
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, "It's alive -- now what?"
"Now, we chase it!" She ran after her cullinary invention.
"Ch-- what?... Franki?... Great. I hate running." Chuck ran after his friend.
"We have to hurry! Its shelf-life is almost over!"
"How do you know? And how do you plan on destroying it?"
"By eating it, of course! It is a food monster! And I'm hungry!"
"How do you know it's a monster? It could just be misunderstood!"
Franki stopped in her tracks, Chuck bumping into her. "You're right... Oh, friggin' golly, what am I thinking?... I always side with the monsters! I don't know what came over me!"
"Hunger does weird things to people."
"Hardly an excuse... Come on, let's go see if he's okay. I hope I didn't scare him."
"It's a 'him' now?"
They found the Food Monster crouching under the kitchen table -- his bed, for all intents and purposes -- and coaxed him out with soothing tones and kind appologies. As it turns out, it was a nice creature, who spoke eloquent english, and even flowerier pig-latin, though, Franki was right, a very short shelf-life.
As the creature lay dying two hours later, he thanked Franki and Chuck for their ultimate kindness, and bequeethed his body to science. However, before his last wish could be granted, Franki, who was extremely hungry by now, took a few nibbles.
In the end, all that remained was Monster's pickle-juice brain, and the digesting science of biology to which his body contributed. The power came back on, the floor was cleaned of all footprints, the socks re-washed, the kitchen empty, and Franki's stomach full to bursting.
As the rain let up a little, Mr. and Mrs. Shoeshine returned home with a car full of groceries.
"Franki!" Cried Mother Shoeshine, "Care for a snack?"
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