Classy Condiments

Use the words: Mayonnaise, Mustard, Soy Sauce, Relish, Pickle, Hot peppers and Ketchup in a story.
His taste in women was complex. If his women were a type of food, I'd say they were pickles. Had I told you that in a conversation, you would reply back "How odd." and I'd say "Not at all you see, pickles are tangy and he likes his women to have a zesty attitude. Now I mean pickles, whole, in a jar with garlic, not pickled relish. It must have garlic because he likes his women to carry a scent of mysterious musk that lingers. Not garlic smelling of course but you understand my analogy." and then you'd say, "Well what about in a sandwich, how could you relate his pickled women then?" trying to stump me of course. I'd easily reply back " It would be on a whole wheat bun, because he wants his women to have healthy buns."
"Who doesn't." You'd mutter.
"I suppose it was a given. He wouldn't have it with mayonnaise, nothing so fatty and boring as that. Mustard I assume would be his choice. Putting mayo on a sandwich would be like putting ketchup on a hotdog for him and he wants a one-of-a-kind woman, not what every other man has. He would top it off with hot peppers."
"That's a bit of an odd sandwich, I don't think I could stand the hot peppers."
"Of course you wouldn't, that is why his taste is complex. What one man shudders at, another man devours."
You would sit there and ponder my comment before concluding, "You haven't mentioned beauty at all."
I would sigh at your foolishness, shaking my head. "It's not about beauty to him, otherwise I might have compared his women to soy sauce."
"Soy Sauce?"
"Yes, dark, tantalising on your tongue and dangerous to your health. Instead I refer to his women as pickles, green and warty because he doesn't care about beauty on the outside."
"Yes well I've bitten into a pickle before and there is nothing beautiful on the inside."
I would push back my chair at that point and stand up to leave, throwing down some paper for the bill.
"Then one day my friend, you may find yourself hungry."

Terrible Two's

You are two years old with a name that has the initials C.A.T.
Name: Chevrolet Avalanche Tacoma
Nickname: Chevy in adult language, Sh-wee in two year old language
Favorite Food: Gravel
Siblings names/ages: Jayna age. 6
How they treat you: Silent Revenge
Thoughts on toilet training: Why poop in the toilet when you can poop in the big thing they call a bathtub.

Here I am stuck in my crib, I've just started to figure out how to escape it but it's hit or miss. If it were nighttime I'd be scared. Beside my crib, on the wall with the ratty shredded wallpaper are three little holes. At night that's where they come from. The worms I mean. I haven't seen them come out of there, but I just know. If you were my age, you'd understand. Us two year olds just know things; things that others don't. It's okay when you're really really old, you'll realized them again.
Anyways, those worms come out of the three holes at night and they fall into my crib. I don't know why but every time they do, I have to cry. Even though they're actually quite pretty. Being the size of half of my daddy's cigars, its easy to see what they look like. Some are indigo, other a vibrant yellow-green but most are black and they all have glitter showing through their skin. I always stand up, because who wants to lie in a pile of worms. It's not long before my mommy saves me. She always asks what's wrong and if I had that kind of co-ordination I'd roll my eyes at her. I walk through the worms to get to her, still wondering why she's even asking. Then she picks me up and I look down, and they're gone. They must have gone back in the holes.
So here I am, stuck in my crib in the daylight. Although today I've stolen some tape and I've stuck it over the holes good and tight.
No more glittery worms visiting me tonight.

A Change of Pace

Since I seem to only write depressing things here, I decided that I'll start posting some writing exercises I've been doing from a book called Write Brain.
Exercise 1:
Include the words: Exorcist, jambalaya, keepsake
Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil running around and around on his wheel. I mean, I do an honest day of work. Although I should feel saint-like being an exorcist, I still feel that I'm just recycling these demons back into the system. Maybe I've exorcised some of the same ones over, how would I know. If I could only take some sort of keepsake from each, to let me know if I meet them again. Like a special jambalaya recipe, then I could say "Hey how do you make jambalaya?" right before I make the demon burst from the body. Although I can't say demons believe in honesty at all costs. I don't even think humans do. The reality of it is... I bet demons make horrible jambalaya.