Peanut Butter Brains and Watermelon Head Make A Sandwich

Peanut Butter Brains and Watermelon Head

                                               Make a Sandwich

Peanut Butter Brains and Watermelon Head sat in the dining room staring at their plates.  Slathered atop their chinaware was, what seemed to their young eyes, a convention of bloody tapeworms entangled around a sprinkling of charred eyeballs.  "Mommy dearest,"  Peanut chirped, "I just remembered that my teacher told me I'm not getting enough screen time at home.  If you don't mind I'd best skip dinner and get up to my room to log a couple extra hours on the old boob tube."

"I don't think so young man.  You're staying put and eating your dinner."

"What is it?" Watermelon Head inquired, referring to the dinner.

"Don't be silly!  Why it's spagetti.  You know that.  Now eat up."

The boys looked over at their father who was sitting in his armchair in the other room.  He had a newspaper in his lap and a monstrous tumbler of brown liquid in his hand.  Even more noticeably, he had no so-called spagetti within ten feet of his person in any direction.

"Why doesn't Dad have to eat some too?"  they chimed in unison.

Their father looked up from the paper.  "Because, young chaps, a sound diet requires consuming calories in moderation.  This drink contains half my daily calories.  It would be recklessly unhealthy for me to eat that spagetti and risk exceeding my daily allotment."

At this mother rolled her eyes, and the brothers seemed none too placated either.  Before the boys could rally an objection mother pushed back in, "Come on boys.  You should be grateful you have anything to eat.  In some countries children only get one meal a day."

"Yeah, but I bet it's brunch," quipped father from the other room.

Watermelon Head twirled the spagetti noodles with his fork.  Peanut made an exaggerated show of putting a meatball to his mouth and through sheer force of will attempting to take a bite of it before failing miserably under so noxious a trial.

"Fine!" mother screamed exasperated, "You hate my food so much, why don't you just feed yourselves from now on!"  She threw her napkin down on the table dramatically as she stood up.  She walked over to the window and proceeded to stare out of it at nothing in particular.

"Oh, no!  What are we going to eat now?" Peanut almost had tears in his eyes.

"I once saw a movie where a guy ate his shoe," Watermelon Head offered tentatively.

"That wasn't a movie.  Your cousin Jimmy ate one of my golf cleats last summer,"  father reminded.

"Oh yeah," Watermelon Head now remembered, "Where's your other one?"

"No one's eating my shoes!  Why don't you guys go in the kitchen and make yourself a sandwich.  And while you're at it why don't you make me one too?"

Incredulous, Peanut Butter Brains said, "What?! Do we look like your servants?"

Mother turned toward them from the window, "You boys better get Dad that sandwich.  My friend Trudy's husband once asked her to make him a sandwich.  She told him to make it himself.  He said was going to the store for a pack of cigarettes and never came back."

Peanut stared at his mother in shock at this revelation.  Watermelon Head looked over at his dad, "Hey Pops, have you ever considered taking up smoking?"

His father now engrossed in a crossword puzzle mumbled, "What's that?"

"Oh, nothing," Watermelon Head replied as mother shooed the both of them into the kitchen.