The Craw paced deep in his lair, clutching his tiny smartphone and tapping one heavily-booted foot impatiently, waiting for the line to pick up.
Riiiiiiing…..riiiiing……
“”Hello? Ted’s Discount Flesh Emporium, serving the Underworld since 400 BC, how may I help you?”
“This is The Craw.”
“Oh HELLOOOOOO The Craw, what can we do for your exalted self today?”
“I’d like to order three palettes of your delicious Terriyaki Badger Spleens, please.”
“<cough>, Ummm, Mister The Craw, I am humbled to inform you that we’ll no longer be carrying that product line, as we’ve had reduced access to prime badger spleens lately.”
“WHAAAAAAAAT?!?!” The Craw shouted in slow-motion, as the camera panned slowly back from his foaming mouth to reveal a grimace of hysteria and pain that could only grace a face when under the most shocking circumstances.
“I don’t understand this BLASPHEMY!!!!” roared The Craw, as his foggy swiss-cheese of a brain slowly comprehended the utter dismay of losing his favorite evening snack of all time.
Granted, the Teriyaki version was a new delight, as he’d been noshing the original smoky flavor for thousands of years, as well as the Lebanese Sour Cream and Anchovy flavor that was trotted out from time to time when sales were lagging.
“Someone’s head will roll for this!” emoted The Craw heavily, even tho he realized there was little to be done. He hefted his trusty zircon-encrusted scythe, “Mister Withers,” and shook it furiously at no-one in particular. He ranted briefly at his cat, Nefarious, who simply turned and licked his butt in a show of feline contempt.
Further enraged, The Craw stalked violently down the hall to his left, shrieking, “WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO MEEEE?!?!?!?”
From his phone, came the weak sound of a reply from the contemptible asshat, probably Ted, on the other end of the line.
“Mister The Craw, it’s become a struggle as of late, because you have apparently eaten 97% of the badger spleens left on this planet, and our recent contract with the Greater Underworld Badger Authority now prevents us from taking the spleens forcibly; we must now ask permission to remove each badger’s spleen, and we’ve been forced to compensate the badger for said spleen-based tissue, and fill out the new Consensual Spleen Surgery and Direct Deposit Form in triplicate. As you can imagine, we’ve been forced to cancel production of all spleen-based products including our line of toasted spleens, potted spleen-in-a-can, Spleen-Whiz(R), and of course all of our shampoos and cosmetics. Oh yes, and our line of organic Spleen-o-matic String Cheese, obviously."
The Craw staggered, and fell back roughly into his deep wingback chair, seeking the comfort of its blood-red fabric. This was not possible!! Of course, Scientists had been blathering on about some sort of badger shortage someday, but dammit, he was THE CRAW, and he needed his goddamned snackage!!!
“You know, there are plenty of plant-based snackages you could gorge yourself upon, my love!” shouted the Ginger Foxx, who had been after His Great Unholiness to eat fewer things that had the capability of emoting back at you.
“You know that I am a Reaper of great authority!” he yelled back, knowing that his argument was not necessarily a logical retort.
The Craw suddenly clutched at his abdomen and hurried himself toward the The Great Cistern of Unholy Happenings, and placing himself upon it, settled in for a battle of will against his internal departments. There was war and chaos reigning within his intestinal tract, and without any agents in the field, The Craw had very little intelligence about the battle, other than the painful stabs he felt each time he visited the cistern to do his unholy business.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!” yelled The Craw as the battle began with a powerful punch to his small intestines, then a rapid push to the left, as he mashed the uncooperative body part back against his kidneys, who wanted no part of this fight. The intestines responded with a long and powerful release of noxious gasses that left The Craw reeling.
“Oh Mother of Zeus!” he yelled, as the gasses settled around him in a foggy cloud of swirling green and yellow.
“Pbthpbthpbthpbth!” shouted his intestines back at him, delivering another round of noxious gas and associated digested materials into the cistern, with great authority.
Several curses and howlings later, The Craw sagged from the effort of battle, his sweaty and tattered cloak in a black pool around his unholy feet, his body slumping forward in defeat. It was becoming apparent that his gastric battles would continue this losing streak if he did not change his ways. The Craw contemplated the further horrors he would suffer at the hands of the mighty Underworld Food Conglomerate.
Slowly making his way back to the kitchen, The Craw resolved to no longer eat those things that emote back at him nor get into knife-fights in his lower intestines. He mentally banned the worst of them, Seargent Dairy, from ever setting foot in his body again, from now until the end of time.
Heaving a great sigh for the memory of his late great toasted badger spleens, The Craw tossed a flake of dehydrated Kale into his waiting maw, savoring the green algae taste, and smiled toothily at Ginger Foxx.
“It’s delicious,” he said weakly, through the grimace of his decaying mouth-hole, as he scrambled to find some form of chocolatey goodness that he could use to de-kale his tastebuds. He promptly banished Kale from the house forever, and proceeded to stalk the zucchinis.
Who knows what horrible fate awaits them, as The Mighty Craw hefts his trusty scythe and proceeds to reap the crap out of the zucchini’s small and tasteless souls.
Savoring their little planty screams of terror, he thought to himself, “Yeah, I can do this.”
--the end--
