by Michael Frissore

Once again the kitchen exploded. When Steve gets high he starts freaking out and thinks there are "scary little dudes" in the refrigerator trying to kill him. I don't know where he gets the dynamite. He shoves a dozen sticks in the fridge, lights them, and then hides behind the couch with his fingers in his ears like Tom from Tom & Jerry. This explosion was particularly nasty. All they found was a package of duck sauce and a big jug of Steve's tobacco spit.


Michael Frissore lives in Leominster, MA with his wife. His short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming on Antithesis Common, Zygote in My Coffee, Nuvein Magazine and elsewhere. He is also a staff writer at The WRIToracle and a contributor at Undress Me Robot.

1 comment:

Madam Z said...

I had "scary little dudes" in my oven once. I was able to dispose of them quite nicely by activating the broiler. Nothing exploded, but it smelled real nasty.