Do you remember when every can of Pork & Beans contained one or two tiny cubes of a white, tofu-looking substance? Supposedly, this was “The Pork” responsible for top billing in the product’s name. Even though these morsels appeared to have no flavor of their own, they were as sought after as the prize in a box of Cracker Jacks.
Fights were known to break out at the dinner table. I’ve seen kids come to school with fork marks in the back of their hand because they tried to steal “The Pork” out of their sibling’s plate. What marketing genius. It just wouldn’t have had the same power if they’d called it Beans & Pork.
Speaking of genius, if you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the story chef who sprinkles hidden gems throughout each delightful treat, is Betty Crocker Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
With the hiring of Helga Von Kidneystone, the cafeteria food at First Security Underwear and Ironworks went from bad to inedible.
Due to low demand for chastity belts over the last three decades, plant owner, Rip Skinflint, fired Chef Boyardee and slashed the food budget.
“I don’t care what kind of slop you feed ‘em,” Rip told Helga, “as long as they get enough protein and carbohydrates to get their work done.”
Having little to work with, Helga recalled a Martha Stewart simple soup recipe from a prison video.
50 gals. Pond water
1 broken office chair
20lbs. grass clippings.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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