"Even the days and nights must be jealous of your predictability."
Sir Whipsonfreak had the most boring, yet safe life in the town of Bunsberry. But one day his grandson Richter complained about it and to prove him wrong Sir Whipson will do the unex...
The musical note made Sir Whipson lift his bum out of the sofa and slowly inch towards the door. As he gently swayed and bobbed like a pendulum, while moving his fat old feet forward, a thundering Richter bolted past him and crashed into the door.
"I am fine." He declared while rubbing his temple.
Ding Dong
Richter quickly forgot about his head and opened the door, making it swing wide open and crash on the adjacent wall.
"It's the food delivery!" He screamed, making the already jittery delivery boy leap in fright.
He nervously clutched the food box and peered at the two contrasting faces in front of him. One seemed confused as a cat and the other seemed so happy, he could pounce at him and make love with the box at any instant.
He clumsily lifted the food parcel which was the hot girl at the moment, and for the sixty-seventh time checked the name and address. "Rich?ter?" He asked, carefully syllabling the name with the best pronunciation his brain could provide.
"Rick-ter!" Richter screamed and took the box away from the delivery boy's hand, making a face before marching away.
"He is kind of protective of his name." Sir Whipsonfreak explained with a smile while handing out the money. "Keep the change."
The delivery boy nodded in quick succession and with an almost inaudible thank you, ran away and down the stairs.
Sir Whipson closed the door with a sigh and turned around to face his grandson who was standing with his back towards him, busily pouring the box contents in a plate. "That was rude."
"His mispronouncing my name was equally rude. Tit for Tat."
Before Sir Freak could open his mouth to object, Richter turned around with a plate full of dead tapeworms and a small meatball. A fork also seemed to be embedded in this squeamish dish, it's silver handle protruding near the meatballs.
"What is this monstrosity?" Sir Whipson asked, his eyes widened with fear and disgust at the sight of the grotesque delicacy. " I swear I will put my whole property under your name! No need to torture me with that nastiness!"
Richter drooped his eyes at the question and gave out a heavily tired sigh. " I am your only heir after father, and anyway this isn't some nauseating, unappetizing torture food."
"Then what is it?" Sir Whipson reluctantly asked.
Richter gave another disappointing exhale of breath to show his disenchantment. "It's Spaghetti and Meatballs."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sir Redhawk stared at the potted plant that stood beside the small fish aquarium, contemplating whether he should walk all the way down the long corridor to pee or simply relieve the pressure on the potted being. 'All the way down the hall? Nah, that would be too embarrassing.'
