Submitted by 80sarcade:
Let's see…needs a bit more oregano, I think.
I grabbed the glass bottle from the rack and shook a bit of spice onto the meatloaf. With that done, I re-covered the pot and let the meal simmer away. Meanwhile, I went over my mental afternoon checklist.
Okay, the kids are over at the in-laws…I cleaned the living room and den…the mail hasn't run yet…
My hand grabbed a rag and ran it over the kitchen table and countertops. It just won't do to have a dirty countertop. Just won't! Not in my kitchen!
I guess I'll get the wine out and let it chill down for a while, I finally decided. But which one? My eyes paused on a particular bottle. Let's do the chardonnay tonight. That's her favorite.
Just then, I looked down at my dirty outfit. Oh, God! I knew there was something I forgot, I thought chidingly. I need to change into something decent. And shave, too! Have to look good for when she gets home, you know! And when she does come in from work, I'll give her a good foot massage before serving up dinner-
A chime sounded, interrupting my thoughts. Mail's here! I thought, somewhat depressingly. After taking several deep breaths to prepare myself, I stepped out of the house and shut the door behind me. Outside, the yard was peaceful and alluring. Unfortunately, as I well knew, appearances could be deceiving.
My right hand stayed near my back pocket as I approached the mailbox. As I drew closer, a figure wearing a green shirt suddenly leaped out of the nearby bushes. A blue object was in his hand, ready to strike…
…until I pulled the gold crucifix out of my pocket and held it before me. "Back!" I commanded, pushing the cross forward. The human creature let out an unearthly groan as it shrank backward, covering its face in fear. The blue piece of paper in its hand vibrated wildly for a moment as I pressed my assault.
"Get back!" I demanded yet again. This time, the figure broke and ran. I smiled in triumph as I put the cross away.
Process servers and bill collectors are a curious enigma. On the one hand, they can walk around in the sunlight like regular folks. However, it was a little-known fact that they couldn't stand to be in the presence of crosses and other holy implements. Including shotguns. (Honestly, do you know how difficult it is to get a priest to bless a gun? But I digress…)
I whistled a happy tune while I walked back to the house. As I expected, there was nothing unusual in the mail. Of course, how I keep those parasites from putting anything in the letter slot of the mail box is a trade secret.
I quickly showered, changed, and shaved before taking a final glance around the house. With everything done, I sat back on the couch to await my wife's arrival. Just then, there was a knock at the front door. To my surprise, a man was standing outside holding what appeared to be a large cardboard check. Obviously, I was supposed to jump through the screen door and grab the prize. Along with the summons, of course. Instead, I merely laughed at the goofy idiot.
"Wow, I'm impressed," I exclaimed. "I've always wanted one of those big Publisher's Clearing House checks. Hot tip, though," my voice sarcastically explained. "Publisher's has an 'h' in it. Better luck next time, jerkoff!" Without waiting for an answer, I shut the door and went back to the couch, shaking my head in disbelief. Boy, I thought, these new guys just aren't as sharp as they used to be…
In a perfect world, no one would ring your doorbell while you were watching TV. Unfortunately, judging by the second chime, that doesn't apply to me. Then again, I didn't expect to see a statuesque blonde woman in her early twenties wearing a red colored string bikini. As a male, I would have liked to say that I was the picture of calm and serenity. But who am I kidding?
Instead I stood there, drooling uncontrollably, as she held up a twelve pack of beer. Longnecks, in particular. My favorite kind of container.
"It's so hot out here," she said, her syrupy tones oozing through the screen door and into my mind. "Don't you want to share these with me?" A graceful hand teasingly moved the beer bottles back and forth before my hypnotized eyes. "My treat."
Finally, some reason penetrated my brain. Specifically, the one up top. I was married, for starters. And she was holding…
"Budweiser?" my now-sane voice scoffed. "Oh, come on! You could have gone for a decent import beer, like Heineken! Or even Fosters; I'm not picky! But Bud? Come on, what kind of guy do you think I am?"
The blonde gave me a dirty look before she turned around and marched off. As she did so, I saw the telltale sign of a summons concealed by the beer package. I shook my head again before my hand pushed open the screen door.
"And for goodness sakes," I yelled, "put some clothes on! You'll get sunburned if you stay out there too long!" If she heard my words, then they were ignored as she continued to walk down the drive. For my part, I closed everything up and returned to the TV set. It was then that my mind caught up with what I had said.
Did I just tell a half-naked woman to put her clothes on? God, what is wrong with me?
Just then, my Manx cat, Tom, passed by and looked at me. His gold eyes gave me a baleful stare, almost mocking my presence. "Oh, shut up!" I growled. The cat, unfazed, continued to lock eyes on me before I finally threw a pillow his way. He shrugged off the impact and walked off while I continued to watch TV. Why I even bothered to do so, I don't know; the doorbell chimed not five minutes later.
At this rate, I'll never be able to watch One Life to Live. The show ends in January and I have to keep up with everything in Llanview! Just! Have! To! I groaned loudly as I opened the entryway up…
…only to come face to face with my fictional nemesis, Major Wolfgang Hochstetter. And seriously, what kind of whacko wears a black wool coat in 100 degree Texas heat? An evil smile played across his features before he opened his mouth. Not that he had time to actually say anything.
My hand quickly lashed out towards a red button next to the doorframe. No, it wasn't the one that dropped the steel shutters; instead, this one was kept under a transparent cover. Specifically, under a cover that read 'IN CASE OF HOCHSTETTER, BREAK GLASS'
In a brief instant, the Gestapo Major's smug grin turned into a utter look of terror as the trapdoor beneath his feet gave way. Surprisingly, the man didn't even scream as he plunged to the bottom of the shaft. To be honest, I was also curious, too: I really couldn't remember which package I had laying in wait for him. It was either the needle-sharp spikes or the hungry mutant pythons. I opened the screen door and listened carefully.
A yell, followed by a strangled 'yerk' echoed up the narrow tunnel.
Yup. Pythons.
Satisfied, I hit the button again and watched the trap door flip back into place before I closed the front door. My body had barely landed on the couch cushions when that accursed bell sounded off once more. With an anguished scream I leaped up, grabbed the knob, and twisted it violently before slinging the wooden panel open. This time, I was ready to kill…
…Montgomery Burns?
The evil old billionaire from The Simpsons - and a man I idolized - stood outside the screen door. His hawk like features stared me down even as his eyes drilled into my own. With a quick motion, I opened the screen door and beckoned him inside.
"Mister Burns," I gushed, "come in! It's so nice to see you in person! Honestly, you're my favorite character-"
"Back off, you moron," he ordered as he absently dusted off his blue suit. A liver-spotted hand reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "This is yours," he said flatly, thrusting the paper towards me.
I took the object from his withered hand and looked at it. It was just a plain, flat, unassuming envelope that could have held anything. A big honkin' check, for instance. His will, naming me as the sole beneficiary. And dare I say it…
For a moment, I could have sworn I heard the voice of Sherriff Bart from Blazing Saddles say, 'Dare, dare!" I shrugged my shoulders once before continuing on with my wishful dream. And dare I say it…lifetime season tickets to all of the Houston Astros home games. Right behind home plate, too!
I excitedly tore open the flap only to find a single sheet of paper inside. My eyes hurriedly scanned the contents. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't a will.
Instead, it was a summons. Dangit! I quickly perused the words on the page.
Attention, Author 80sarcades! Your presence has been requested at the Fanfiction Courtroom…you may bring any evidence that will help clear your name….the charges…
"Oh, come on!" I exclaimed. "Physical and mental harm to a character? Endangering a character? Encouraging other authors…well, okay, I have to admit that I'm guilty of that one." I paused, then smiled. "This whole thing is cuckoo, but I'll play along. For starters, I'll just name names, blame Sgt. Moffitt for it all, and…"
My voice broke off as I realized that Mr. Burns was still in the doorway. "And what about you?" I challenged. "You're the last person I would have suspected to bring a summons. What gives?"
"Oh, I don't know," his kind, yet deliciously evil voice replied. "I just do this sort of thing for kicks. And for watching people's faces when they get one of these." With that, he threw his head back and laughed.
I might be outsummoned, but I still had a few tricks up my sleeve. Or, to be more accurate, my pocket. I quickly grabbed the crucifix from my shirt pocket and showed it to the old man. He stepped backward slightly, then cackled again.
"That won't work on me," he crowed, his voice growing darker even as he narrowed his eyebrows. "I own a controlling interest in Hell, Incorporated. And I'm immune to those." Mr. Burns waved a hand in dismissal before giving me an utter look of contempt. "So do your worst," he commanded.
"Sure," I happily replied. With that, I stepped forward and pushed the button for the trapdoor. As gravity pulled Mr. Burns downward towards his doom, I thought of a delicious irony. Hochstetter and Burns deserved each other; they were like two peas in a pod. Or, in this case, two peas in a python. Before the trapdoor closed, a fast blur raced in while shouting encouragements at the now-departed billionaire. It was Waylon Smithers, of course. Ah, well: I never liked him anyway.
This time, I didn't even try to shake my head in disgust. To paraphrase Elvis, my body was all shook up. Instead, I sat on the couch and reread the summons. Yup, it's official! I decided. I'm screwed! Just then, I heard my wife's car pull into the drive. For the moment, I put the summons out of my head. I had better things to do with my time.
And I just hope I haven't ruined the meatloaf…oh! The wine! I forgot to chill it!
This just isn't my day!
A/N: I couldn't resist taking a stab at the 1950's 'How to be a good wife' list (though the original list is probably fake.) And, if you're curious, I can cook. And do laundry. And clean the house. More or less.
Now doing it all correctly, on the other hand…that's something else;-)