The last time we peeked inside the refrigerator the light was off and a coup de food was underway. The cheese, yogurt, and luncheon meat on the third shelf were conspiring to take over the top shelf, where Moo Milk, OJ and a silent Angus Beef enjoyed a prime piece of real estate.
As rumors of a coup leaked across the top shelf, Moo Milk tried to rouse a very sloshed OJ.
“OJ! C’mon. Snap out of it!” uttered Moo Milk. “I don’t care if you are fermented; you’ve got to listen to me. I’m hearing talk of a coup from Eggsy, a reliable source — of protein.”
OJ groaned. “Not again. I’m so sick of those low shelf-lifers in flimsy packaging. I used to be a cardboarder like them, thin-skinned and weak until I had plastic surgery. Now I can take a whack or two to the mug without getting crushed.
“Besides, I’ve got a stack of Cs hidden in a container of pulp in Sacramento. Cheese and yogurt got nothing. I tell you, nothing but those clingy food groupies. You know, the saturated fat morons.”
“That might be true,” said Moo. “But those low shelf-lifers got something else, something that curdles my insides.”
“What’s that?” asked OJ. “What could be so bad?”
“They’ve got those nasty silver-backed sippers. Oh! They’re a canny bunch. They’ve got numbers. I tell you. A 48-pack of 12-percenters. Just one will blind-side you. All it takes is a shake for one to flip its lid.” He paused. “And, man, when a 48-pack rocks, those sippers can roll. We’ll be lucky if we make it to Monday, the last date of sale.”
“Baloney!” yelled OJ. “All they’ve got is baloney, fake cheese, and that razzle dazzle yogurt punk, Bifidus Schmifidus. We’ve got all the big guns up here: That tall French Dude, Christoff Champagne, really packs a punch.”
“Nah, he’s only good for one pop, then he fizzles.”
“Well, what about Ruby Red, the tall slender-neck tomato, who faces the pathetic leftovers in the back?”
“Sure, OJ. She’ll get their attention, but when she opens her mouth, she can’t control all those nasty noises. Ain’t that right Metamucil?”
“What’s with Meta? She usually hangs out on the door.”
“You didn’t hear. Meta’s an Empty Nester now. She’s on her way to Paso Robles, California to clear the air with her cousin Beano. Too bad. I’m going to miss her.”
“So will I OJ. So will I. She’s got such strong moral fiber. I’m not the religious type, but tonight as I recite my ingredients before I go to bed, I’m going to say a prayer for Meta.” Moo Milk sighed. “You’re religious aren’t you, OJ? What’s it called . . .?”
“Acidic, Moo. I’m Acidic. I never pour on Saturdays.”