Dec. 28: Francine finds fossilized fish fingers
Francine came to my apartment the other night. She was dressed in her
red dress, her red beret, and her gold rimmed glasses. Smoking a
cigarette from a long black cigarette holder. Helps herself to a mug of
V8 and then growls: "I'm hungry. Feed me something."
Heck, I ain't got no groceries. Been a while since I had work. Doc Parssons paid me half a C to shovel the snow out of his driveway last week but that's all gone now. Bought some milk. Bought some smokes. Paid off my ma. Now I'm broke again.
"You ain't bare in here," says Francine. "You got something to munch on, I just know it. I'm gonna look through your freezer."
"Be my guest."
So up goes the freezer door and Francine's inside, digging around. Not much to eat in there 'cause I use the freezer for storage. She pulls out some socks and some coffee beans and some of Nora Roberts' early novels and then, at the very bottom, she finds what looks like some brown moldy fingers.
"I recognize these," she says. "That's Captain Highliner Tempura basted ocean fish fingers."
"Gol," says I. "Bought those in 1982. Doubt they're good anymore."
"No matter," says Francine. "I'm a hungry baby so fry 'em up."
Well I know better than to tangle with Francine so I get me my frying pan and some Wesson oil and we toss the fish fingers in and all the ice buildup kinda melts away. Soon the oil is popping and the fish fingers are sizzling. They look kinda sickly to me, the way an old man's foot might look if someone cut it off and threw it on a plate.
"Yummy," says Francine. "Got any tartar sauce?"
"No."
"Then I guess I'll have to eat them as is."
Francine picks up the frying pan and gulps down the fish fingers. Hot oil drips on her face, leaving blisters. She doesn't even notice. That's how hungry she is.
Then she puts down the pot and I see that the oil has totally scorched her tongue. There are big bulging blisters on it and her lips are chapped and puffy.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yeth!" says Francine.
I take Francine to the hospital and the surgeon gives her plastic surgery so that she's all better again.
"I'm hungry," she says as we leave the hospital. "Can we get something to eat?"
"Sure. What are you in the mood for?"
"FISH FINGERS!!!"
Heck, I ain't got no groceries. Been a while since I had work. Doc Parssons paid me half a C to shovel the snow out of his driveway last week but that's all gone now. Bought some milk. Bought some smokes. Paid off my ma. Now I'm broke again.
"You ain't bare in here," says Francine. "You got something to munch on, I just know it. I'm gonna look through your freezer."
"Be my guest."
So up goes the freezer door and Francine's inside, digging around. Not much to eat in there 'cause I use the freezer for storage. She pulls out some socks and some coffee beans and some of Nora Roberts' early novels and then, at the very bottom, she finds what looks like some brown moldy fingers.
"I recognize these," she says. "That's Captain Highliner Tempura basted ocean fish fingers."
"Gol," says I. "Bought those in 1982. Doubt they're good anymore."
"No matter," says Francine. "I'm a hungry baby so fry 'em up."
Well I know better than to tangle with Francine so I get me my frying pan and some Wesson oil and we toss the fish fingers in and all the ice buildup kinda melts away. Soon the oil is popping and the fish fingers are sizzling. They look kinda sickly to me, the way an old man's foot might look if someone cut it off and threw it on a plate.
"Yummy," says Francine. "Got any tartar sauce?"
"No."
"Then I guess I'll have to eat them as is."
Francine picks up the frying pan and gulps down the fish fingers. Hot oil drips on her face, leaving blisters. She doesn't even notice. That's how hungry she is.
Then she puts down the pot and I see that the oil has totally scorched her tongue. There are big bulging blisters on it and her lips are chapped and puffy.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yeth!" says Francine.
I take Francine to the hospital and the surgeon gives her plastic surgery so that she's all better again.
"I'm hungry," she says as we leave the hospital. "Can we get something to eat?"
"Sure. What are you in the mood for?"
"FISH FINGERS!!!"
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