creepy and hatboy – revenge of the salty treats

creepy and hatboy - heroes for a couching world.

i felt the sting of their savage bites. their growls made my ears tingle, and their crisp skin scratched holes into mine. i threw cushions at them in a futile effort to keep them at bay. today, they were angry.
something had mutated them. i cast my memories to the wind and pictured a can of treacle which had been sitting in the cupboard for many years. it was yellow. the treacle was like thick black oil. perhaps a rogue treaty had fallen into the pit, clawed its way free of the sticky muck, and infected its fellows.
the cushions kept them back for ten seconds. i know, because i counted.
as they leapt at my throat, i ducked sideways, my super-sidekick training keeping my blood-filled neck free of their lunch menu. “i’m no salty treaty’s gumbo-of-the-day!” i told them.
i realised then that there was only one way to save myself. i’d have to release the full power of my super-sidekick abilities, something i’d never done before. perhaps it was laziness of mind. perhaps laziness of the soul. whatever the excuse, i’d never really pushed myself so far before. but, with hatboy away, and not returning for some time, there was no other way to keep the salty treats from turning me into some skinless pagan fetish for their evil religious non-tolerant behavior. icky.
then, with a howl of rage, one of the spiky treats pounced. with my super powers of quick-thing-grippy, i siezed it in my fist and did what only hatboy would do . . .

oh, the horror, the skanky horror of it all

when hatboy found me close to death, some hours later, he dragged me to the couch, where i lay, eyes staring haunted to the ceiling, fingers twitching for the safety of the remote control. then he sighed, staring at the many pieces of salty snacks which were strewn about the room like some weird blanket of latent evil.
“the salty treats mutated,” i croaked at him. “i did the only thing i could think of. i did what you’d do.”
“my god. you didn’t! but you’re not strong enough! your powers of tummy-filly haven’t reached my level of xen-ability. you could’ve killed yourself!”
i nodded. “no choice. had to save myself. voyager’s sixth season begins tonight.”
hatboy understood. “you should have barricaded yourself into your room. i could’ve dealt with them when i got back.” he picked up a small handful of crispy remains and put them into his mouth, crunching their shells. “i like salty treaties.”
“they filled the room. everywhere: salty treats. my room has no tv.”
“i forgot about that.” hatboy put another handful into his mouth. “mmmm. chicken. no wonder you’re not feeling so good. now, if they were bbq, you might have gotten away with it.”
tomorrow, i’m going on a strict excercise program of much nacho goodness in order to build up my super-sidekick tummy salty-treaty-muscles of much-evil-explodey.

steaming slug of the dead

my tummy still hurts.
i tried drinking warm milk. i tried rubbing the sore spot. i put my fingers down my throat and deposited the remains of last night’s chips into the porcelain poopiechair of weird smells.
i drank some coffee to clear my head and asked hatboy for a known remedy to belly-bubbles.
“when my belly tries a rebellion, i poke it with a sharp wet stick until it stops,” he said.
i couldn’t tell if he was joking. he sipped his mocha kenya and tried to look decidedly zen. the commercials finished and i ignored him until the next ad break. i asked him if he knew how to stop a tummy ache.
“have you tried drinking hot mocha?”
i nodded.
“well, that’s it then,” he told me. “you’re going to die.”
despite the hot slug-thingy which i’ve tied to my tummy to keep it warm and safe from the spooky-cold skelohands of death, my belly agrees with him.
“but what will become of my ashes?”
“i’ll put them into a red bucket, and pour coffee on them,” hatboy said. “you’ll get soggy, but at least you’ll be swimming in colombian blend.”
“will you dip anzac cookies?”
“of course.”
“then i can die in peace.”
“shh. buffy’s on.”

Tags: creepy and hatboy, salty treats