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Friday, December 25, 2015

DON'T BUY PASTA FROM THE SPLATTER MAN


I learned this the hard way at four A.M. on a windy winter night. The wind was shrieking at my windows, howling and moaning as if was trying to warn me of something.
I didn\’t pay any heed. I was too hungry to worry about what some spirit among the trees might have to tell me. I looked in the phone book. All the pizza places were closed at that hour –
except only one – \”SPLATTER PIZZA, WE DELIVER REAL QUICK\”.
It said, \”Just enter your phone number, address and order, and you\’ll never buy pasta
from anyone else.\”
I was about to make the worst mistake of my life. I filled in the empty spaces of the order form shop on line. In almost no time there was a loud pounding at my door.
I was upstairs in the shower. Fernnie, my twin brother, he answered the door. There was
a lot of sounds like scrambling, scraping,tackling, run and a thump…I thought I heard a scream
as I was drying my hair with a towel. Then the door slammed.
I went downstairs. The delivery man was gone. There was the box of a
pizza, extra large on my kitchen table. On the box was written, \”SPLATTER PIZZA !\” in big red letters. The corner of the flat box seemed to be wet. It appeared to be dripping.

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