A/N: I'm house sitting for my parents, and don't have access to my more serious stories. So I can't work on "Fairest in the Universe" or "Silver Bird" tonight.

So instead…this. I've had this scenario in my head for some time now, and tonight seems as good a time as any to finally record it. Enjoy.

The Sanders family chicken farm was the most crowded it had been in sixteen generations. Half of the Food Mascot Community had been invited, and the rest had turned up anyway. The Jolly Green Giant towered over the barn, dressed in his Papal hat and robes, holding the Holy Bible (King James edition, with cliff-notes). A sea of attendants covered the rolling hills of the Sanders farm, allowing just a long thin path of green grass between them, to serve as the wedding isle.

A third of the crowd was composed of invited Mascot friends: the Trix Rabbit, Ronald McDonald, the Hamburgler, the Cookie Crisp Robbers and their dog, Count Cholula, and the Fruit Loops toucan, just to name a few. Another third was made up of the bride and groom's relatives. Which people belonged to the Sanders family, and which to Aunt Jemima's, wasn't hard to guess. Even if not for the color coordination, the Sanders relatives all bore a very strong resemblance to one another. One might say that they all looked exactly like the Colonel himself, in various different wigs and costumes. The final third of the crowd was composed of the Sanders farm chickens, clucking and flapping their wings enthusiastically, blissfully unaware of what the main course for the wedding dinner was going to be.

Grandpa Sanders whispered angrily, "Where's the groom?"

Great Aunt Biv Sanders snorted, "Having second thoughts, maybe. I still can't believe my own great-nephew, Colonel Sanders the 11th, is considering marrying a Black woman!"

"Aw can it, ya old bat," spat little Sanders Jr., the Colonel's half-nephew (an 11-year-old boy in black Emo clothing and makeup, who otherwise resembled his half-uncle, right down to the beard). "Get into the 21st century why don'tcha. I mean, Trix Rabbit just married one of the Keelber elves last fall in New Jersey!"

"Sure," Great Aunt Biv Sanders grunted. "But ya expect those guys to be queers. Ya don't expect Colonel Sanders ta marry a woman of Color!"

Grandpa Jebediah—Aunt Jemima's grandfather—pointed towards the hills with his cane. "I think I see him!"

There came the Colonel, trotting up the hill, being pulled along by his Best Man, Tony the Tiger. The Colonel was stumbling, and looked extremely hung over.

"C'mon Colonel!" Tony urged, in his usual enthusiastic shouting. "Straighten your tie!"

"Quit yellin' in my ear ya big dumb walking carpet, I'm standing right next to ya!" the Colonel bellowed, in his Deep South accent. "I can't do it Tony, I can't get married! I got cold feet! I can't get married—I'm too old! I'll probably get Alzheimer's by the time it's time to take our vows and forget what I'm supposed to say!"

"Colonel, you've been an old geezer for as long as I can remember!" Tony assured him. "Your mind's been sharp as a razor, the whole way! The only thing you might get is a heart disease from all that fried chicken."

The Colonel stopped suddenly, thinking Tony's words over. He finally straightened himself, and breathed deeply. "Oooh Tony, you're right, as usual."

He gave his enthused friend a high-five (Tony loved those), and took his place at the altar (well, barn), next to (well, under) the Jolly Green Priest.

A hush came over the farm, as the ceremony commenced.

The flower girl came first: a cute little Jewish girl with the long, black, frizzy hair, in a ruffled blue dress. She skipped down the grass isle, with a bottle of Pepsi in each hand. As she sprinkled the soda onto the grass, flowers immediately blossomed up, of every species and color imaginable, covering the isle in a carpet of flora.

Pepsi Girl was followed by the bridesmaids: The Indian Maiden, dressed in her brightest, butter-yellow buckskin gown; Brittany Spears, who hadn't looked so blonde or sexy since her last Pepsi commercial, at the turn of the century; and Wendy, in her best blue-and-white striped gown, her red pigtails in elegant French braids. Each held bouquets of roses, daffodils, and dandelions, respectively.

The music started up. The Hawaiian Punch Man hummed along to himself, as he played the wedding theme on a large organ from the barn roof. Aunt Jemima began her trek down the mile-long wedding isle, with her arm around her father, Bubba. Aunt Jemima was dressed a lacy wedding gown, made from white and gold checkered patterned fabric. A long veil trailed behind her, being carried by the three Keebler elves (who, incidentally, had tailored the entire outfit for her).

All of the relatives and friends looked on, teary eyed. Jemima was aware of every nice and nephew watching their beloved aunt walk down the aisle: Billy, Bobby, Birtha, Barbara, Belinda, Suzie, Sandra, Jonathan, Jonasina, Penny, Bob, Rob, George, Ronald, Donald, Lonald, Carrie, Harry, Larry, Betty-Sue, Billy-Bob, Jim-Bob, Michael-Bob, Annie-Jean, Bobbie-Jo, Anastasia, Terry, and…well, the list is extensive. They don't call her Aunt Jemima for nothing, you know.

The organ music reached a climax, as Jemima and the Colonel came face to face at the front of the barn.

"Dearly Beloved," The Jolly Green Giant began. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Colonel Mitchell-Bob Raymond Sanders the 11th, and Aunt Jemima Tatiana Giselle Barton, in the bonds of Holy Matrimony. Aunt Jemima: do you swear to stand by the Colonel through sickens and health, through brownies perfect and burnt, excellent fried chicken and okay-ish chicken, good business and bankruptcy, fame and obscurity, now and forever, till death do you part?"

Looking into the Colonel's deep, blueberry-frosting-colored eyes, Jemima replied, "I do."

"And do you Colonel vow to do all the stuff I just said to her?"

The Colonel looked into Aunt Jemima's fudge-brownie colored eyes. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wi—"

"OBJECTION!"

The Green Giant looked around, searching for the voice's origin. Throwing his green leafy hands up, the Giant bellowed, "Who asked?!"

Two small men were stomping up the isle. One was the famous Cap'n Crunch. The other was a similar looking man, with a white wig and a pointed hat, but he was drawn far more realistically.

"Quaker!" Jemima gasped.

Colonel Sanders jabbed his cane into the ground angrily. "Quaker, you anal, tree-hugging, pacifist, anarchist commie twit! Jemima dumped you! Get it through that thick wig of yours!"

"This has nothing to do with me and Jemima." The Quaker drew himself up to his full height. "This is about someone else and Jemima!"

Poor Jemima's face grew as pale as frosted flakes.

"What the devil are you talking about?" Sanders demanded.

Quaker glanced down at Captain Crunch. "Tell them what you saw, Captain."

Captain Crunch turned and faced the crowd on both sides of the isle. "I got lost in Aunt Jemima's house at the last Christmas party! I wandered around the mansion drunk, searching for a magical wardrobe that would take me to Narnia—I was hammered, don't ask alright?—I didn't find no Narnia. But what I did find…was that Aunt Jemima…is already married!" The crowd gasped (or clucked, in some cases.) "Don't believe me? Just ask her to show you what's in her attic."

Sanders turned to Jemima. "He's drunk now, isn't he! He has no idea what he's talking about!"

Jemima just looked at her lover, with hard eyes. Reluctantly, she turned to face the crowd, her family and friends. "It's true," she said bitterly. "I'm married. To a man—if you can even call him that—who I have not ever, and could never, love."

Her three best friends stared at her, dumbstruck. The Indian Maid's jaw was hanging opened. Britney Spears looked sympathetic. Wendy went pale as a blank placemat before a toddler scribbles on it, and feinted.

"Jemima," Britney said timidly, "I don't understand."

"Maybe it'll make more sense if I show y'all, instead of tell you." Aunt Jemima sneered. "Come, let's go meet my husband!"

The bridge stomped away from the groom and the priest, with a hard face. Reluctantly, Colonel Sanders moved after her, and the Giant followed. The wedding guests began to trickle into a crowd behind them, until Jemima was leading them all across the hills like Moses, to her family mansion across the lake. The food mascots, relatives and chickens poured in through the front doors, like a swarm of ants flooding through a crack in the wall. Up the wide staircase they went, up another, and another, up a long spiraled stair, into an elevator (where they sat for ten minutes listening to crappy elevator music) then up more stairs, until finally, they reached the attic.

Aunt Jemima pulled a key ring from her lacy wedding apron, and picked out a large, old, rusted key. The crowd was watched, frozen, as she she jabbed in into the attic door, and forced it opened. The room beyond was dark, filled with cobwebs, and…smoke? No…steam! An old man was bent over an old woodstove, hard at work.

Colonel Sanders leaned in through the doorway. "Is he making…rice?"

Aunt Jemima nodded solemnly. "Everyone, meet my husband…Uncle Ben."

Uncle Ben turned to face the visitors, with wide, psychotic eyes. "That's 'Uncle X' for now…until I get my lawsuit against that fat bastard who stole my name!"

The Jolly Green Giant whispered, "Who's he talking about?"

"Big Ben," Jemima sighed. "You know, the big clock in England."

"Oh…"

Uncle Ben muttered madly to himself. "'Bland rice'… 'chicken fine without it'… 'Chinese do it better'…I'll show them! I'll show the whole world!"

"It's like this." Jemima turned back to the crowd. "When I was fifteen years old, my Ma and Pa, both now dead, had me married off to a man who they said would support me fine, with his great cooking business. Ben seemed nice when we first met. But no one liked his rice. Said it was the cheapest, blandest crap they'd ever tasted."

She shook her head.

"Peeps, it broke him. His mind snapped. Couldn't handle the reality, that every single group on the planet—the Chinese, the Indians, the Native Americans, even the frikkin' English—can make rice taste more interesting than the bland 'add water and stuff it in the microwave' crap he cooks up. He went mad…real mad. There were murders around our neighborhood, people found chopped up with axes or chainsaws, or stuffed into wood chippers, and neatly arranged in rice dishes surrounded by carrots or potatoes.

"I had to protect society. But as a wife, I had to protect my husband too. So I locked Ben up in the basement. After I made my big break with my brownies and syrup and other junk foods, and got this mansion, I moved him up to the attic. I thought I could keep it a secret from the world…but I guess I was wrong." She glared at Captain Crunch.

"Hey," the Cap'n held up his cartoonish hands defensively. "It's not like I went looking for your old man! I was drunk out of my mind! I saw water leakin' out from under the door, and I thought there were mermaids in the room beyond—maybe that pretty siren who stole that bag of bugles from me twelve years ago, who knows. Instead, I came in, and this maniac tries chopping me up into rice! He had me tied up with spaghetti, sitting in a pot to be boiled up! Luckily for me, spaghetti losses its firm grip when put into hot water, and I was able to break free and climb out the window."

"So!" Quaker folded his arms over his chest. "What do you all have to say to that? Hmm?"

The crowd was speechless.

A low gruff voice finally rumbled, "I say…dinner is served."

Uncle Ben was behind Quaker, with an ax raised.

"Ben!" Jemima cried. "Don't!"

Ben brought the ax down, and chopped Quaker down the middle! And then he chopped again—and again—until Quaker was little more than a pile of flakes, like his cereal. Uncle Ben stood over his kill, with a slasher's grin on his face, and began neatly arranging the bits of Quaker into a neat pile. Muttering to himself, he began searching around his little kitchen: "What do we need for Qua…ah, milk!"

"RUN FOR IT!" The Jolly Green Giant bellowed, just before Ben whirled around and chopped him in half, sending leaves flying everywhere.

Everyone ran in different directions, but wherever the terrified wedding guests ran, Ben always seemed to be right there, waiting for them. Three of Sanders' chickens took off down the stairs, half falling and half flying (well, their wings were flapping), until Ben's ax decapitated them all with one swish. The next ax swing was aimed at Tony the Tiger, further down the staircase; Tony dodged it, but tripped over his own tail, and tumbled into a bookshelf. The Fruit Loops Toucan narrowly escaped death, losing his tail feathers to the ax. Ben hit the Trix Rabbit with the flat end of the ax blade, knocking him out the window.

"I never got to try just one Triiix…" he lamented, as he plummeted to his doom.

The bodies were piling up. Goldie the Goldfish had had her head bitten off. Half of Count Chocula lay draped over the sofa, and the other half was in the bathtub. One Keebler elf sobbed over the other elf's body, until Ben's ax caught him in the back, sending him to join his friend.

"Ay!" Captain Crunch leaped onto a staircase railing, his cutlass drawn. "Avast, ye crotchety old fart!"

Uncle Ben roared, and swung at Crunch. They dueled, ax on sword, while epic pirate music blasted from nowhere (courtesy Hans Zimmer). Crunch grabbed the chandelier that hung over the stairs, and swung over to another staircase. Ben did a Matrix-style leap over to the staircase, and the duel continued... until Ben chopped off the hand that held the cutlass.

"HEY!" Crunch exclaimed, grabbing his stump. "I ONLY GOT TWO OF THOSE!"

"Crunch," Ben said, breathing deeply. "I am…"

"Say 'your father,' and I'll—"

"…getting bored of this swordfight." Ben dealt Crunch a fatal stab, and sent the captain tumbling down the stairs.

Below, Jemima cried out, grabbing her head. "Crunchers too?! Oh, what have I done!"

Ben turned, and suddenly, Jemima and Colonel Sanders were both being backed down the staircase, Ben slowly descending towards them, with his ax raised.

"What have you done?" Ben laughed like the Joker. "What have you done? You've sold more popular food than your husband…by making unhealthy, chocolate, sugar-filled pastries that doubtless contribute to America's child obesity! That's what you've done! I tried to make healthy food, but oh no! No one wants rice, they want brownies! And maple syrup! And," he glared at Sanders, "…fried chicken!"

From a balcony overlooking the scene, the three bridesmaids and the flower girl watched in horror, as their friend and her lover huddled beneath the ax.

"What do we do?" Pepsi girl whispered.

From behind them, they heard Great Aunt Biv Sanders cry, "Someone save my great nephew!"

Wendy grabbed the Indian Maiden's arm. "I.M.! Don't you have some Indian badassedry you can pull? Surely somewhere in that beaded bodice of yours, there's a bow-and-arrow, or a hatchet, or a spear…"

The Indian Maiden—or I.M. (as she'd been going by since college)—smiled slowly. "I've got something much, much better than that, White Man."

Wendy frowned. "I'm a girl."

"Sure you are. And I'm the tooth fairy."

Below on the staircase, Ben raised his ax. "Don't worry Jemima, I don't wanna hurt'cha, I just wanna bash her freaking brains out!"

Jemima and Sanders screamed like little girls, grabbed hands, and fled the rest of the way down the stairs. Jemima led Sanders through a door, which she yanked shut and locked. Ben, predictably, chopped a little hole in the door. Even more predictably, he stuck his head through the hole, and laughed, "Wendy, I'm home!"

"Someone say my name?" Wendy called stupidly, from the balcony.

Ignoring her, Ben brought his ax down again, expanding the hole in the door. "Heeere's Johnny!"

"Oh-ho, Ben!" Jemima cried desperately. "First a Star Wars gag, then Jack Nicholson… do you have ANY original material?!"

Sanders shook his head in despair. "Of all the attics in all the mansions in all the worlds—"

"Oh can it!" Jemima shouted.

Ben finally kicked down the door, and stepped into the room. Now he had them cornered.

"What kind of rice should I make tonight?" he taunted. "White rice?" he glared at Colonel Sanders. "Brown rice?" glared at his wife. "How about…WILD RICE!"

"Oh god, the PUNS!" Jemima covered her ears.

Ben brought his ax up, laughing manically—

T-T-T-T-T T-T-T-T-T T-T-T-T-T…

Ben stumbled, as his body was filled with bullet holes, until he looked like a used pin cushion. With an agonized gurgle, his body crumbled to the floor. Behind him, standing on the balcony above, the Indian Maiden held a smoking Tommy Gun.

Blowing the smoke, I.M. said proudly, "The Second Amendment…Protecting Americans from foreign invaders since 1492!"

"Not bad," Jemima nodded, putting her hands on her hips.

Sanders threw up a hand. "Why the HELL didn't you break out the gun before, girlie?"

"Erm…" I.M. looked around sheepishly. "…Plot Hole?"

Jemima shook her head, and turned to the Colonel. "Let's just get married."

"Say, that's right," Sanders pointed at her. "You're a widow now, aren't you! So you're available!"

"Wait for me!" Tony the Tiger stumbled out of the library, with several old books still handing off his large stripped body. "I'm not quite dead…"

"On my way!" the top half of the Green Giant clawed his way through the damaged doorway, his Bible in one hand. He flicked the book opened, and said, "Here we go, short, short version, 'Spaceballs' style. Aunt, do you?"

"I do."

"Colonel, do you?"

"Hell yes!"

"Good, yer married, kiss her."

Jemima and the Colonel kissed passionately. The surviving wedding guests cheered and applauded, and showered the couple with white grains. Jemima smiled; after all those tortured decades, they had finally found a use for Uncle Ben's rice.

FIN.

A/N: Anyone who has read or seen "Jane Eyre" recognizes the plot of this tale. It is traditional, if I'm not mistaken, to draw inspiration from Classic sources.

This story was less well-written when first posted. I have now updated it.