Note: For those who are unfamiliar with it, The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle is a well-loved American picture book from the latter half of the 20th century. Because it has so few words, parodying it effectively in prose was something of a challenge. So, the text in bold is the text you would see in the book, and the text in italics is a description of the picture you might find to accompany it. The original book illustrations are gorgeously rendered using an unusual paint-over-tissue-paper technique. (Google "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and you'll see what I mean.) Please try to keep the style of those illustrations in mind as you read, and you'll get the full effect of the piece. (-:

The Very Thirsty FBI Agent

In the light of the moon a big bundle of blankets lay on a bed.

A big oak bed with a lump in the middle is rendered in solid browns, purples, and blues.

One Monday morning, the warm sun came up and ... pop! Out of the blankets came a very sleepy and very thirsty FBI agent.

The big orange sun smiles in the window. Sitting up in the bed, yawning and stretching his arms, his hair sticking up every which-way, is Peter.

He started to look for some coffee.

Peter is blearily walking through the kitchen in his pajamas, arms out like Frankenstein, drooling and staggering towards the coffee maker. Elizabeth, seated at the table in her bathrobe, looks worried.

On Monday morning, he drank one cup of black coffee, but he was still thirsty.

There is one empty coffee cup lying on its side.

On Monday afternoon, he drank two cups of coffee with cream and sugar, but he was still thirsty.

Two empty coffee cups are lined up on Peter's desk.

On Tuesday morning, he drank three cups of macchiato, but he was still thirsty.

Peter is carrying a tray with three cups into his office, past Diana and Jones, who are looking concerned and scratching their heads, respectively.

On Tuesday afternoon, he drank four lattes, but he was STILL thirsty.

Peter is waterfalling a latte into his mouth as Neal stands outside his office, looking shocked. Three empty cups are in Peter's trashcan.

On Wednesday morning, he drank five shots of espresso, but he was still thirsty.

Peter is positively pounding the espressos, right there in Starbucks.

On Wednesday afternoon he drank one java, one café au lait, one breva, one ristretto, one cappuccino, one demitasse cup of Turkish coffee, one lungo, one mocha, one frappé, and one cup of ice water. By 8 o'clock, he had the shakes.

Peter is at his desk. His clothes are rumpled and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks like a wreck. Neal, Diana and Jones are looking around his office in disbelief. There are empty cups everywhere. Diana is fisting her hair, and Neal is pointing at the overflowing trashcan. Jones is trying to pull a shaking Peter away from his computer.

Now he wasn't thirsty anymore – and he wasn't a calm, controlled FBI agent anymore. He was a twitchy, jittery FBI agent, and all that caffeine was making him imagine some very silly things. First, he imagined he was the sun.

Peter is standing on his desk, silent and still, with his arms outstretched. His subordinates are watching him, unsure of what to do. Neal's mouth is open, and a little dialogue bubble over his head reads, "What on earth is he doing?"

Then he imagined he was the night wind.

Peter, still on his desk, is waving his arms and puffing out a lot of air. Neal, Jones, and Diana don't look very impressed.

Then he imagined that he was a beautiful butterfly, and he got a running start out of his office. He tried to take flight off the balcony into the bullpen.

Peter is standing tiptoe on the balcony with his eyes closed, completely oblivious to the danger, leaning off at a forty-five degree angle and flapping his arms in delight. Diana is almost out of Peter's office. She has Jones by the waist. Jones has Neal by the waist. Neal, tongue sticking out with the effort, barely has Peter by the belt, and the other two agents are gritting their teeth as they tug.

Fortunately, his friends pulled him to safety.

Peter is lying on top of Neal, who has landed in Jones's lap, and Diana, who is still upright, is laughing.

But once the FBI agent was safe, he stopped imagining he was a butterfly, because he felt very sick. Too many caffeinated treats had upset his tummy. He ran for the restroom.

Peter is banging open the restroom door and dashing inside. He is holding his belly and looking green.

Once he was done, he felt much better, but he was very tired. His friends wrapped him up in a cocoon of blankets, put him to bed on the couch in his office, and called his wife.

There is a big bundle of blankets on the couch. Elizabeth, Neal, Jones, and Diana are standing in a circle. Elizabeth's clothing is pristine, but Neal and the two agents are rumpled from rescuing Peter. Neal has his hands on his hips and a dialogue bubble above his head reads, "Elizabeth, Peter's coffee drinking is out of control. It's time for an intervention."

So the FBI agent's wife took him home and got him some help. Soon, he was only drinking two cups of coffee a day, and everybody was very relieved. A few days later, he came back to work and …

The illustration is of Peter and Elizabeth's house, as seen at night, with some lights on. Satchmo is a shadow in one window.

Everything was back to normal.

Neal, Diana, and Jones look on, smiling, as Peter sits calmly at his desk, sorting some papers. His shirt is neatly ironed, his hair is combed, and his tie is immaculate.

THE END