A Banquet Is Spread Before Me

For about as long as I can remember, it has been loitering in my freezer. Hanging out with an insolent sneer across its face, mocking me every time I opened the door.

America’s #1 Frozen Brand, Banquet
Select Menu, no less.
Barbecue Chicken Meal (hmm, can we get an official definition of ‘meal’, please?).
Barbecue Sauce over Grilled Chicken, Mashed Potatoes and Corn.
Microwaveable.
330 calories with damn near nothing of value in them.

When and why I bought it, I know not (although I can pretty well guarantee there was a rock-bottom sale price involved). I know only that it has been in my freezer since approximately 1918 – the same year I bought the tennis shoes I’m wearing today. I have looked at it just about every day since then, grimaced, and chosen something, anything, else for lunch.

“Yeah, that’s right, you just keep lookin’,” it would snipe at me, as I peered between the frozen blocks of ground beef and pork chops. “You ain’t woman enough to eat me! G’on! Pick something you’d like better, like maybe that little dainty portion of tamale casserole, or perhaps a Tupperware of onion soup!”

I’d glare at it, choose something else, and slam the freezer door while it howled with laughter.

But today, I finally did it.

I took it out, nuked it up, and ate it.

Scoff at me will ya, punk?! Well, take that! I’ll even mix your corn and mashed potatoes together, then scoop the barbeque sauce into the whole mess before I chomp them down! Bwa-hahahaha!

{!!BELCH!!}

Pardon. Did I mention I’ve also polished off the last little going-flat bit of a liter of Diet Dr. Pepper with that? Well, I did. In about four seconds and without the benefit of a glass. CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!

Both were equally vile. Semi-flat Diet Dr. Pepper, and a Banquet frozen meal.

Oh, yum.

But now they’re both gone, consumed rather than thrown away, and I can get back to my life. The only thing mocking me in the freezer is a six pound bag of gourmet hotdogs, which like to throw the fact that my Mutant Alien Children will not eat hotdogs.

Bastards. But I’m getting even with them, oooooooh yes, I’m getting even with them.

I’m taking them to my niece’s birthday party this weekend. 30 adults, 15 children (not including my Mutant Aliens), and a red-hot BBQ grill.

They will be eaten.

Oh yes, they will be eaten.

BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!