Excerpt - Cafeteria of the Mind 1

Once upon a time a little old lady named Beatrice lived in the deepest, darkest part of the urban jungle with her sole companion Edmund. The house they lived in was a three-room Gingerbread^TM erection, left over from a (brief) fad in architecture, now consigned to a footnote in history¹, the terribly popular² varnished food house. The Gingerbread^TM was the most popular, although the MilkArrowroot^TM ran a close second; ironic really, as both were made from shellacked corn flakes and empty yoghurt containers.

Beatrice had come down in the world somewhat, beginning her existence in a glorious mansion by the sea. Born to affluent parents who had no skills to speak of³, she had lived a girlhood of few cares and even fewer hardships. When she turned eighteen, she was courted by the local farrier, Duncan, who professed his love by inscribing “I luv Beeeeeee” in fluorescent ink on every horse’s backside he came across, a feat that Beatrice found enchanting⁴. They married in the spring of her nineteenth year. Sadly, the marriage was never consummated: the horse drawing their wedding carriage took offence at having his backside played with by someone wielding a fluorescent marker. Poor Duncan was catapulted over the nearest cliff by flying hooves.

Beatrice, vowing never to marry (or love) again, took up rubber mat embroidery to while away the long days and nights following Duncan’s departure. Although embroidering rubber mats was a fairly successful line of work⁵, Beatrice squandered her investments for retirement when she discovered a deep and abiding passion for cereal box tops. Although her collection was somewhat arresting in its size, it was less than inspiring in terms of capital returns and Beatrice was left destitute. At a time of life when she expected to be resting on the laurels growing in the backyard, instead she was forced to take up residence in the mouldering and successively chewed upon Wafer-esque⁶ estates.

Edmund, ex-parrot-now-dog⁷, was on the run from the Vigilante Mob of Stolen Food Against Food Theft. Many years before he had been mistaken for a masked invader from the dark side who stole lunches and other foodstuffs from a local refrigerator. Since then he had moved from place to place, pretending to be a gargoyle at a church⁸ one month, feeding small children at local fountains the next. Finally he came to rest with Beatrice, who accepted him without question⁹.

On the day our story begins¹⁰, Edmund and Beatrice were enjoying a morning constitutional up and down the two foot garden path in front of their inedible cottage. It had been raining for days, and Beatrice was impressed at the state of her laurels. She was considering taking a holiday back to her girlhood home, much to Edmund’s agitation, as he still feared that there may be an errant wanted poster with his face on it, but Beatrice would not be dissuaded.

“Edmund,” she said, “I feel a yen to travel.”

Edmund sighed. Longing to remain in the sanctuary he had discovered, he girded his loins for the trip over the hill to the house in the distance.

Next week: How does a cafeteria, a girl, a stolen sandwich and a serving of stolen hubcaps fit into this collection of miscellaneous words masquerading as a story? Can the plot get any thicker¹¹? Could any more footnotes fit onto this page? Will the DFTCC write another menu? For the answers to all of these questions and more, be sure not to read the next thrilling instalment!

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¹Though not in this story.
²Except when it rained or starving wildlife ate the eaves.
³Except a marvellous talent for smiling brilliantly in toothpaste commercials.
⁴His employers were not so impressed.
⁵Particularly on mats used for decorating cars with spectacular sound systems.
⁶Being the fiftieth such development, the building company were running short of inspiring and well-chosen names.
⁷Not dead.
⁸An unfortunate choice, as the local church was a single story clapboard construction with no ornaments to speak of; strangely Edmund was not spotted for quite a number of weeks until he accidentally let fly with a “SQUAWK!” of epic proportions when a cat went by on the street below. The cat was more startled than Edmund - he hopped the first ship to Patagonia and so leaves this tale forever.
⁹And indeed, couldn’t give two hoots about food theft from any refrigerator, as she herself subsisted on a diet of pureed fluorescent markers (left over from Duncan’s supply) and surf board wax.
¹⁰After that extremely long-winded introduction.
¹¹Let’s face it, it can’t get any thinner.