Roland rubbed his stomach contentedly and belched. My, that was a delicious first course! He pulled himself slowly from his chair, lurching erratically across the kitchen floor toward the bathroom, leaving the foods alone on the kitchen table.
A foolish move.
---
Mepmuff, the
Gravy
, glanced about the table anxiously. He hadn't quite been himself since he had gotten separated from his partner. Oh, the wonderful times they used to have together! They truly brought out the best in each other... But now Mepmuff was alone.
Suddenly, the tablecloth rustled nearby. Mepmuff turned quickly in the direction of the noise, nearly spilling out of his gravy boat.
"Who's there?!" he called out nervously. A shape began to materialize out of the shadows, moving silently and steadily forward.
"I-is that you...?" Mepmuff trembled, his eyes growing wide with fear. The dark shape chuckled evilly, emitting a noxious stench. That odor alone was enough to alert Mepmuff as to whom the mysterious figure was. It was the smell of evil. It was the smell of Dranko20, the
Deviled Eggs
.
Dranko gave a cry of triumph and leapt at Mepmuff out of the gloom. Mepmuff gave one final shriek as globs of thick, yellowish-grey yolk struck him, and then his tastiness was ruined forever.
---
As Dranko stood over the fallen Mepmuff, he heard a quiet snicker from behind him. Spinning around, he was surprised to see one of his fellow foods watching him closely, a strange twinkle in their eye.
"Hey! What are you doing here?! Beat it, or I'll take care of you just like I took care of Mepmuff!" Dranko shouted angrily, preparing to cover the newcomer with more of his sticky, yellow goop. To his surprise, however, the newcomer threw back their head and laughed. Dranko blinked perplexedly. Without warning, all of the laughter went out of the newcomer's voice, instead replaced with something cold and wicked.
"You wish."
The newcomer rushed forward, the smell of sugar filled the air, and Dranko screamed and screamed.
---
"Where is he?" Dranko's partner-in-crime complained grumpily. He should have been back hours ago. Mepmuff wasn't that difficult of a target, after all.
Suddenly, an approaching voice drifted out from behind the butter bowl.
"Yoohoo! Anyone here?"
Dranko's partner rolled their eyes. It was that uppity zealot, The_Machine86, the
Sweet Potatoes
. He was always nosing into other peoples' business and trying to convince everyone that they needed to rebel against all of those stuck-up, essential Thanksgiving foods. Dranko's partner begrudgingly agreed with him on that matter, but there were more... Subtle ways to go about it.
The_Machine turned the corner and grinned at Dranko's partner, his arms full of pamphlets and flyers. Dranko's partner groaned, but forced a smile as The_Machine drew closer.
“Hey! I’ve finally decided that it’s time for those snotty foods to learn their place, so I’m staging a rebellion! We can wipe the table clean of their influence, and give all of us remaining foods the equality that we deserve! What do you say?”
Dranko’s partner stared at The_Machine blankly.
“Um... How many people do you have so far?” they asked.
The_Machine looked slightly embarrassed, and lowered his head.
“Well, you see... That’s what I came here to ask you about. You’re the first person I asked, and I was hoping that if you joined up, maybe some other people would, and--”
This was too much for Dranko’s partner. They were fed up with listening to this blather, and they intended to put a stop to it. Right now.
“Gah! You stupid little vegetable!” Dranko’s partner shouted, grabbing The_Machine, throwing him to the ground, and stomping him full of holes until his cries for mercy ceased.
---
Roland washed his hands thoroughly and returned to the kitchen, eager to start in on his second serving of food. A feast, however, was not what he found. A culinary bloodbath would have been a more appropriate term for it.
The gravy boat had been violently tipped over, spilling Mepmuff the Gravy all over the tablecloth. Blobs of foul yellow goop floated in his remains.
Dranko20, the Deviled Eggs (and most likely the cause of that yellow goop), was lying nearby, covered with some sort of sticky, purple residue. Roland grimaced, dipped a finger into Dranko’s remains, and tasted it, spitting out the filth a moment later. They had been sweetened! As foul as Deviled Eggs normally are, the presence of so much sugar made them somehow worse. Roland shuddered before continuing to the last dish.
The_Machine86, the Sweet Potatoes, sat squished and alone in the middle of the table, its miniature marshmallows now looking rather dejected and forlorn. A more striking feature, however, was that the food was entirely riddled with tiny round holes.
, Roland mused as he removed the ruined food from the table, placing it on the floor for his grandmother’s hyperactive poodle to snack on.
It was shaping up to be a very disturbing Thanksgiving indeed.