Once upon a time, in a quiet home on a
quiet lane in a quiet town, something happened. Something so horrible, so terrifying, so
unnatural, that even now – nearly four days later – it is
referred to by shocked locals as ...
The House on Brocco-Lane.
It was a peaceful evening, like
countless others in this unassuming home. The tranquility was broken only
by the frenzied racing of a wild-eyed grey cat, running his nightly
crazy-laps up and down the hallway with all the grace and
elegance of a drunken zombie horde.
The mouth-watering aroma of cheesy
chicken casserole filled the cozy home, luring the Little Prince and the
King of the Castle from the dark depths of the basement, up the creaking staircase and into the kitchen. A
solitary figure stood by the oven, waving a hot pad over a steaming
cauldron and muttering an ancient incantation:
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Casserole's not browned, but at
least it's bubbled.
It was … The Mom-ster! A toxic
health-food spill in the freezer section of the local grocery mart
had turned this normally mild-mannered housewife into a
veggie-pushing mad chef!
“What's ... that?” the Little
Prince asked cautiously, peering into the 9x12 baking dish.
“Chicken casserole,” The Mom-ster
replied. “Mwaa-haa-haa!”
“What's on top of the casserole?”
The Little Prince asked, suspicious of The Mom-ster's maniacal
cackling and creepy hand wringing. “They look like … undercooked
sausages.”
The Mom-ster hesitated a moment
too long before replying.
“Yes! Yes, they are!”
“No they're not.” The Little Prince
was not fooled by The Mom-ster's overzealous enthusiasm. He crossed
his arms in a classic Picky Eater defensive move.
“You're right! They're …” the
Mom-ster paused dramatically, waiting for the ominous music to play. Duh-duh-DUHHHH! There was no music, of course, because this was real life, not some horror movie. It was much, much more frightening than any movie could ever be. This was ... dinnertime! And those strange, grey-ish green blobs on top of the casserole?
“They're Brocco-tots.”
The Little Prince gasped. The King of
the Castle looked up from his magazine in shock. Even the cat
screeched to a stop and hovered protectively over his food dish.
“Oh just eat them. They're good for
you. One bite won't kill you.” Duh-duh-DUHHHH!
Before she could dish up steaming
plates of chicken casserole with proportional amounts of the
some-what healthy, albeit odd-looking, garnish the Mom-ster was called away to a meeting.
She returned to find a decidedly dis-proportionate amount of
brocco-tot leftovers.
“Curses! My attempts to foist
somewhat healthy eating habits on my family have been foiled again!" the Mom-ster cried out in anguish, but not surprise.
When the brocco-scarred Little Prince
related his tale to his sister The Princess, at first she
reacted with mild disappointment.
“Sounds like a waste of perfectly
good tater-tots. And broccoli.” She did not share his aversion to
all things vegetable.
“But... but you don't understand!”
The Little Prince protested. “There was no tater in these
tots! Just broccoli!”
The Princess fixed The Mom-ster with an
ice-cold glare.
“That's just … wrong.” The
Princess said. “If she tries that again, let me know. I'll call
protective services.”
They say that when the moon is full,
and the wind whistles through the trees, and the weather calls out
for the comfort of a home-baked casserole, if you listen carefully
you can still hear the siren song of …
The Cauli-tot!
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