Teeth like sticks of butter gave away my client, the abominable snowman, hiding behind a dead bush. I pretended not to notice and unloaded his monthly supply of ketchup from my sled and into the snow.
Plonk! The heavy crates infatuated the beast, whose gaunt frame waddled out of the brambles.
“Peekaboo! Did you bring the extra packets?”
Glancing back, I strained a smile, nodding. As a renowned tomato salesman, I learned to spot the signs of condiment cravings long ago: stained teeth and bad breath. My arctic customer, predisposed to hygienic deficiencies, suffered both (he had no access to tooth-care nor deodorant, although he sometimes rubbed dingleberries into his fur for a musty stank). His decomposing chompers not only spoiled his camouflage, but polluted the air, fetid breath that shriveled the vegetation. I gagged into my ski-mask, worn for the stink and not the cold. Sympathetic with the local mammals which fled the tundra. A food shortage.
“Yeah, I’ve got the order! Ten boxes of ketchup packets just for you!
I despised our transactions, yet felt responsible for his condition, like a grandmother taking a stray to the vet. After all, I got him hooked on the garnish, and noticed his symptoms of unhealthiness months ago. I tried to bundle mouthwash with his condiments – an offer vehemently refused. Now, the fool starved, put a large portion of my commissions at risk. Forced me to pat matters into my own gloves. Today, I risked my job to help him. This shipment contained ten boxes of ketchup-flavored toothpaste packets, each one homemade!
Unaware, the snowman huffed, “wonderful!”, relieved to replenish his stash before the winter sent him to his cave. “The tundra is deserted, I’ll need to hibernate off these packets alone.”
Impatient, my toes red and swollen like raspberries. I stewed in the bad news. Not much calories in an oral dose of paste and bubbles. A diet insufficient to meet his bulking needs. For a moment, I imagined selling him the order; I imagined the horrible online review: abominable snowman goes extinct, flouride poisoning. Sweat and boogers froze on my snout. The snowman clomped towards me, eyes sunken, molesting the air with greed.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be able to order again. With no furs to sell, my wallet dried up.”
Phooey! I wondered which was worse, his ketchup breath or financial update? I steadied myself against a crate, dislodged the lid. Hundreds of items rained down into the snow.
“Ugh, I’m starving!” He rubbed a paw over his ribcage like a xylophone, squirted fake ketchup into his fangs. I squinted through the gas that escaped his mouth. No amount of dental paste would fix his teeth, but it upset his stomach!
“Ew!” His face and bowels contorted. Pushed out a rancid fart.
Overwhelmed. I fainted, clutching my business card; “All you can eat”, it read.
by: Dom
I like that he tried to help him! Sometimes I crave certain foods, also. It’s nice to have someone try to help you.