idiot-prufs

Frankenstein’s Omelet

I am reposting this along with a short screenplay based on it, written by Ian Wallace, Called: The Experiment.

It was an omelet in the manner that Frankenstein’s monster was a human.

While it’s creator’s intentions may have been noble, the result was an unnatural creation that mocked all that was good.

The plate sat before me, its contents bubbled and oozed, its bulbous features groped at the air and shifted to form what resembled a sinister grin.

The creator hovered over me, flush with pride and anticipation, and offered me a verbal nudge, “well, are you going to try it?”

“Of course I’m going to try it…what exactly is it?”

“What is it,” she was incredulous, “don’t you even recognize an omelet when you see one?”

“Obviously I can see that it’s an omelet,” I lied, ”it just doesn’t have the typical appearance of an omelet.”

“That’s the fault of your stove.”

“It’s the stove’s fault?” I asked skeptically

“Your stove isn’t level.”

“My stove isn’t level?” I poked timidly at the contents of the plate with my fork, “is that why it’s purple?”

“I don’t know why it turned purple, “ she snapped defensively.

“It just seems like a really strange color for…”

“Nevermind the purple bits. Are you going to try it or not?” She gathered over me like a thunder-head.

I searched the plate for a portion that seemed the least threatening. I stabbed my fork into what appeared to be a mushroom; it was almost certainly some form of fungus. As I drew the fork to my mouth, beads of sweat began to well on my forehead.

Tendrils of steam curled from the fork and disappeared into air. It was accompanied by a sickly pungent smell that hung in the air as if it there to stay.

I punched the portion into my mouth and began to chew. It had roughly the consistency of synthetic rubber.  It had an oddly unpleasant flavor, but was not unbearable, until I bit into something that seemed to squirt a semi-viscous liquid.

It was like a mouthful of battery acid, but much less pleasant.

I chewed as quickly as possible in an attempt to remove the offending portion as far away from my taste receptors as possible. I suppressed my gag reflex and swallowed.

Then I swallowed again.  It was clinging to the sides of my throat.

I shifted slightly in my seat and swallowed for a third time. It succumbed.

To this day I can’t be certain, but If I’m not mistaken, it attempted to climb back out.  I quickly grabbed a glass of water and emptied its contents into my stomach, taking with it the stubborn piece of the beast.

I looked up at its creator, smiled weakly, a single tear silently sliding down my cheek, and forced the words out, “it’s delicious.”

She stood over me, arms crossed with a deep look of suspicion on her face. “Why don’t have some more then?”

“I’m not really hungry now,” I assured her as I slowly pushed the plate away, “I’ll have the rest later.”

“I know what that means: you’ll stick it in the refrigerator where it will sit untouched for two weeks, then you’ll throw it out.”

“I explained to you about the casserole, it would up behind something, I forgot about it.”

“Behind something? The entire contents of your refrigerator consists of a can of coffee, a bottle of ketchup and a mysterious yellow stain that seems to move around on its own.”

“The yellow stain moves around?”

“Forget the stain,” she interrupted. “When I come back later, I expect to find the entire thing eaten.” I was never certain about whether she was talking to me or to the creature.

Per her orders, the entire thing was eaten: I fed it to the neighbor’s dog. The dog later vomited and bit me; it seemed like an equitable trade.