Archive for the ‘food’ Tag

The Waffle Thief

Thursday, May 31st, 2012

Hello to all fashion models modelling off the coast of Australia, squirrels running up trees, and old National Geographic magazines.

This is the tale of the Waffle Thief.

In a small town in the north, there was seen a boy. His name? Well, no one knows. Where he came from? No one knows that, either. Some say he wandered out of the woods, one stormy night, cloaked in darkness, with his eyes glinting maliciously as he stood at the edge of town– looking. Only looking. For what? Well– I’ll get to that.

It was nineteen ninety-nine. It was a stormy night, and lightning danced across the dark heavens. A man named Jake Green roused himself from bed, lumbered down the stairs, flicked on the light, and opened the freezer. He was hungry. He wanted a waffle– he rifled through the frozen packages, pulled out the box of waffles, and turned it over to empty a waffle into his hand.

There was no waffle to be seen.

In surprise, he turned to look around– for what, he didn’t know– maybe just for an explanation– and he saw a boy, crouching on the railing of his balcony out the rain-streaked window. Lightning flashed, and the boy was outlined, just for a moment. He smiled, a glint of teeth in the dark, and in his raised hand– there was a waffle.

Jake called the police. They scoured the town– but the boy was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared.

Years later, the Waffle Thief struck again. Then, however, he was not known as the Waffle Thief– his title would come in later days, when a select group of people had become aware of his existence. He was crafty, evasive– some claimed he was some kind of demon– and whenever he was seen, even for a moment, he inexplicably disappeared before you could utter an exclamation of ‘The boy has my waffle!’

In two-thousand three, the Waffle Thief came to a diner somewhere in the east. The waitress, the only person working there at the time, said later that she had not seen him, not even for a moment. There was a man, two women, and a strangely human-like ape in the diner at the time, but if the man, the two women, or the ape was the Waffle Thief– well, she didn’t know. All she knew was that six of the fourteen waffles were gone in the morning, without rhyme or reason.  A day later a young man was seen sitting in the park with a stack of waffles. Not eating them. Just holding them in his hands, looking down at them. A man named Cliff Richards out walking his dog, who saw the man, said to the authorities later, ‘I didn’t know what to make of it. He was just sitting there– looking down at the waffles. A little smile on his mouth. I waited to see if he’d eat them– but he didn’t.’

There are more scattered, uncertain accounts of the Waffle Thief since then. It was not until this very week, in the northeastern part of Ontario, that he was seen again. Well– not seen. Since Jake Green’s midnight shock in nineteen ninety-nine the Waffle Thief had never been spotted in the act. But once again, waffles went missing– inexplicably, in the night– and we can only suppose it was him.

The demonic Waffle Thief– what is he? Is he man or beast? Fiction or reality?

I suspect we’ll never know.

Keep your eyes open for the Waffle-Thief.


A Note On Today’s Bizarre Blog Entry

Greetings, Blog-Reader. Today you’ve read a very strange account of a very real danger– the Waffle Thief. Okay, maybe it’s not real. But why else would the waffles disappear? Without reason? Out of the blue? Out of thin air!

Sincerely yours… Onceabasementdog.

*Thunder clashes. Ominous music plays. THE WAFFLE THIEF IS IN YOUR BACKYARD!*



If I Was A Cave-Person, It’d Be All Right

Thursday, April 19th, 2012

Hello to all long-forgotten jars of pickles at the very back of basement refrigerators, excellent stop-motion animation shorts set to The Shins music, violas, tulips, and quarters.

The other day, I left the Inside World for a while to go to the Outside World. Only because my friend came over and I like him a little bit. So I biked all the way into the southern reaches of town, (and by the way just two days before I set a record for barfing thirteen times in one night due to a *BLEH* rotten chicken sausage, so maybe it wasn’t the best idea in the world), but I wanted to go out. Anyway, I was enjoying myself greatly for a while, until we saw a little blue egg on the lawn. George Harrison picked it up, and determined maybe it was best to put it down again, and then in a startling show of genius I picked it up, was in the middle of saying,  ‘You know, it kind of looks like one of those plastic–‘ When it broke under my fingers and splattered egg juice all over me.

Some of it got on my face. After I spit a few times and washed my hands I laughed about it. Do you know how pleasant it is to still feel sick after a food poisoning epidemic and then spatter bird all over yourself? Not very. Just writing about it now makes my stomach hurt again.

It occurred to me I might’ve killed the bird, but I don’t think so, since it was on the ground and must’ve dropped from somewhere. But there’s no robin’s nest in George Harrison’s tree, so he thinks it was probably his evil little sister who carried it over from somewhere. Anyway, if I was a cave-man, that would be all right, that I broke a bird’s egg– I imagine they probably ate lots of raw eggs, and didn’t even feel sorry about it. But then again, they also lived to be eighteen and didn’t have computers and blogs.

I wish I had more to say, but I don’t. Hm… did you see Lind’s homerun the other night? You know I scored 5,498,930 on computer pinball?

I bet YOU didn’t score 5,498,930 on computer pinball. Yours forever so, so insincerely, Onceabasementdog.