Maw II: Voracious teenage appetite and the manners of a zombie
In honor of Halloween, the Shoebox Castle presents two tales so terrifying that it will make all you parents of future teenage boys gnash your teeth and send you running to chain your fridge shut with huge titanium locks. Yes, it's time for another bad horror movie title, which I haven't done in a while ("Maw"--you know cuz of "Saw." Get it?)
Today's movie tale begins with a seemingly normal teenage boy. He goes to school, he drives, he gets ok grades, he talks to girls on the phone for many hours.
And he eats.
There he was at lunch. The Halloween dance committee sponsored a dance ticket contest involving a doughnut on a string. Many teenagers lined up to compete for the prize, and our normal teenage boy was among them. He lined up with the others, hands behind his back and eyes on his doughnut. The rules said that you had to leave a small bit of doughnut hanging on the string. The fastest doughnut eater would win a free ticket to the Halloween dance. Our teenager took a deep breath as the official timer paused before starting the race. He swallowed, and a trickle of sweat wandered down his back. In the nanosecond before the judge gave them the go ahead, he could feel the monster emerge from deep inside, the voracious appetite clawing it's way up from his stomach, through his esophagus, and taking over his mouth. He flexed his jaw muscles, tight with adrenaline.
"GO!" yelled the judge
His mouth became the monster, opening wide like the unhinged jaws of a snake. He lunged at the doughnut and, eyes crazed and nearly rolling back in his head, attacked the helpless pastry. One bite was all it took and the doughnut was no more. A small arc of powdered cakiness remained on the twitching string and the beast returned to the nether world of stomach acid and digestion.
"Dangit, Other Jim," yelled the judge, as the remaining 30+ competitors still struggled to latch onto their doughnuts, "One bite! Now we're going to have to revise the rules on account of you. Next time, the competitors will have to leave a SQUARE of doughnut on the string, not an arc."
Other Jim merely smiled, took his free dance ticket, and wiped a small bit of white powdery residue from his lips.
(Yes, Other Jim demolished a powdered doughnut in ONE BITE. He was very proud of himself. He is a former Hostess Snoball champion eater too. I sighed a lot and rolled my eyes while listening to him tell me his story. Again, I told him, I am not surprised. I've seen him eat a burrito in one bite. The child's mouth is a cavernous orifice of epic proportions)
The second tale is a mere wisp of a glimpse into the twisted mind of an uncouth youth. What went wrong? Where will he end up? How will he find a wife? Can he get a job? All these questions (and more) raced through my mind when I saw this:
A young man, a runner, belly rumbling with the hunger of a veteran calorie burner, standing at the counter in the kitchen. In his hand, a half-gallon jar of unsweetened applesauce. Out of that jar, a straw poked upwards into the mouth of this expert food consumer. He was drinking the applesauce straight out of the jar with the straw, like an alcohol-free, mid-afternoon, fruity cocktail.
One wonders if he had ever heard of such things as a bowl and a spoon? He replied, "Less to wash this way, and more sanitary." More sanitary? "Yeah, more sanitary than drinking it straight out of the jar."
Commence forehead slapping.
I made him get a bowl and spoon and told him that I want him to eat like a civilized human being and a dirty bowl and spoon were a small price to pay for not being thought of as an unmannered oddball by the female half of the species. To Paul's future wife: You may thank me later--whenever you turn up will be fine.
And now for today's Halloween Decoration Special Feature: how to make candlesticks with useless junk you have around the house.
Dust off an old glass spoon jar. Set upside down. Drape with mangled cheesecloth. Top with fluted taper holder. Paw around in your junk drawer until you find the last unbroken taper. Jam it into the taper holder. Fill space with tiny plastic skulls and accent with a plastic spider. Stand back and admire the gothic-ness. Swat the kids (and zombies) away with the broken tapers.
Today's movie tale begins with a seemingly normal teenage boy. He goes to school, he drives, he gets ok grades, he talks to girls on the phone for many hours.
And he eats.
There he was at lunch. The Halloween dance committee sponsored a dance ticket contest involving a doughnut on a string. Many teenagers lined up to compete for the prize, and our normal teenage boy was among them. He lined up with the others, hands behind his back and eyes on his doughnut. The rules said that you had to leave a small bit of doughnut hanging on the string. The fastest doughnut eater would win a free ticket to the Halloween dance. Our teenager took a deep breath as the official timer paused before starting the race. He swallowed, and a trickle of sweat wandered down his back. In the nanosecond before the judge gave them the go ahead, he could feel the monster emerge from deep inside, the voracious appetite clawing it's way up from his stomach, through his esophagus, and taking over his mouth. He flexed his jaw muscles, tight with adrenaline.
"GO!" yelled the judge
His mouth became the monster, opening wide like the unhinged jaws of a snake. He lunged at the doughnut and, eyes crazed and nearly rolling back in his head, attacked the helpless pastry. One bite was all it took and the doughnut was no more. A small arc of powdered cakiness remained on the twitching string and the beast returned to the nether world of stomach acid and digestion.
"Dangit, Other Jim," yelled the judge, as the remaining 30+ competitors still struggled to latch onto their doughnuts, "One bite! Now we're going to have to revise the rules on account of you. Next time, the competitors will have to leave a SQUARE of doughnut on the string, not an arc."
Other Jim merely smiled, took his free dance ticket, and wiped a small bit of white powdery residue from his lips.
(Yes, Other Jim demolished a powdered doughnut in ONE BITE. He was very proud of himself. He is a former Hostess Snoball champion eater too. I sighed a lot and rolled my eyes while listening to him tell me his story. Again, I told him, I am not surprised. I've seen him eat a burrito in one bite. The child's mouth is a cavernous orifice of epic proportions)
The second tale is a mere wisp of a glimpse into the twisted mind of an uncouth youth. What went wrong? Where will he end up? How will he find a wife? Can he get a job? All these questions (and more) raced through my mind when I saw this:
A young man, a runner, belly rumbling with the hunger of a veteran calorie burner, standing at the counter in the kitchen. In his hand, a half-gallon jar of unsweetened applesauce. Out of that jar, a straw poked upwards into the mouth of this expert food consumer. He was drinking the applesauce straight out of the jar with the straw, like an alcohol-free, mid-afternoon, fruity cocktail.
One wonders if he had ever heard of such things as a bowl and a spoon? He replied, "Less to wash this way, and more sanitary." More sanitary? "Yeah, more sanitary than drinking it straight out of the jar."
Commence forehead slapping.
I made him get a bowl and spoon and told him that I want him to eat like a civilized human being and a dirty bowl and spoon were a small price to pay for not being thought of as an unmannered oddball by the female half of the species. To Paul's future wife: You may thank me later--whenever you turn up will be fine.
And now for today's Halloween Decoration Special Feature: how to make candlesticks with useless junk you have around the house.
Dust off an old glass spoon jar. Set upside down. Drape with mangled cheesecloth. Top with fluted taper holder. Paw around in your junk drawer until you find the last unbroken taper. Jam it into the taper holder. Fill space with tiny plastic skulls and accent with a plastic spider. Stand back and admire the gothic-ness. Swat the kids (and zombies) away with the broken tapers.
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