Todd Schorr: Sugar Shakes
SUGAR SHAKES
The pentagram was outlined in Kool-Aid powder. The candles were stacks of pierced Necco Wafers with licorice-whip wicks. The sacrifice was a beheaded chocolate Easter Bunny. Solid, not hollow.
Little Kenny Firazzy was ready to invoke his own peculiar demons.
Butt-naked, smeared with strawberry syrup, a necklace of candy skulls draped across his bony, ten-year-old chest, Kenny began to chant the evil invocation he had learned from collecting enough Bazooka Bubblegum comics.
"Skittles and Kitkats and hyperglycemia! Gummis and Starbursts and sweets that are dreamier!"
The chant took a full five minutes to recite. But when he finished, Kenny knew he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.
Confined in the pentagram, three demons hovered: Cottonwisp, Bad Apple and Beninjeri. Vainly did they writhe to be free, uttering seductive promises and lies. Their tails lashed, their fluids oozed, their worm-tongues flickered. But Kenny had been too smart for their wiles. They were trapped, and forced to accept his commands.
"Listen you three," Kenny ordered, "I wanna have all the world's sweet stuff, all the time, anytime I want it! And for starters, I'll take a nice big serving of chocolate milk."
"Your wish," hissed the three demons, "is our command."
The bioengineered cow crashed through the roof, landed on Kenny and squashed him flatter than a Fruit Rollup. Chocolate milk dribbled from its teats. The pentagram dispersed upon impact, and the demons were freed.
They went straight back to their home in the innermost circle of sugar hell: Hershey, Pennsylvania.
