Today's the day. Today's the day of your gallery opening. You had somehow managed to convince the director to allow you to hang 7 of your pieces in his gallery. You knew you could use a break- you had graduated with honors from Pratt 3 years ago. You knew it was unrealistic to expect much success at this point in your life, but you couldn't stop yourself from dreaming of the day when you would 'make it.' You hadn't had your work shown in a gallery since your senior project, so you needed every chance you could get.

You squared your shoulders and walked through the glass double doors of the gallery. You wandered over to your pieces to see how many people were looking at them: just a few. You looked across the room and saw a painting you hadn't noticed when you were here hanging your stuff. It was an abstract landscape- red earth, grey sky. You walked slowly across the gallery floor, transfixed. You had always been indifferent to other people's art, competitive little weasel that you were. You halted a foot in front of the painting. You stared at it for the duration of the opening, fielding questions from patrons with your characteristic monosyllabic grunts.

Suddenly, a smoky, spicy voice flowed like A1 Steak Sauce into your left ear.

"I wanted you to think of me when you saw it." It was your old flame, Guy Fieri. He looked longingly at you with his beady little eyes.

"I thought I'd never see you again," you said, reaching out to rub his barbecue sauce-drenched bib between your thumb and forefinger.

"Oh ye of little faith," he said, smiling a little. There was gravy leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He stepped closer to you and whispered sweet, greasy nothings into your left ear. It tickled. He wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his oily sausage fingers on your artificial hip. "God, you're so beautiful. You remind me of a gorgeous burger I ate on my show once."

You smiled. You knew he had a triple D story coming on. You loved your Guy, you really did, but you couldn't abide his long-winded tales of episodes past. As he was talking, Guy cuddled you even closer. You felt the porcupine quills of of his spiny hair poke into your cheek as he rested his head upon your shoulder. He suddenly stopped telling his story. You looked down at him.

"Pat my belly," he said, looking up at you piteously. Blushing heavily, you obliged, feeling his stomach gurgle enthusiastically. It was so loud, it jiggled.

Suddenly, Guy began to vomit explosively. Chunks of burger were spewing out of his mouth. You chortled warmly. Your dough boy was always overeating. You dipped a finger into one of the expansive puddles of half-digested burger, and sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact with your Guy. He giggled mischievously.

"I don't know if you should eat that, my snurkle," your juicy bun said.

"Why not, my dumpling?" you said, still working on one of the burger chunks.

"Because, my ham sandwich, I'M PREGNANT."

DUN DUN DUN!111 To be Continued? 0: