My name is Father Runyon; you probably never heard of me, but in the supernatural world my name strikes terror into a legion of demons that devote their time and energy to terrorizing the unsuspecting, natural world around us. Who are these demons? What do they do? They enter our homes and take over our food, bringing their evil into our kitchens, restaurants and eventually into our bodies. That’s where I come in. The bread that refuses to rise, cookies that burn without the slightest provocation, spicy food that’s bland, bland food that’s spicy; all these and so many more are the results of this vicious cadre of food demons.
Of course my services are not nearly as famous as some other priests; those who cast out demons from possessed individuals, rare events that are overly publicized. Food possession occurs on a daily, no, hourly basis and my phone never stops ringing, my e-mail overflows and I can’t keep up with the texts. I have hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitter and my Facebook fans number in the millions; all grateful and faithful recipients of my unique talent.
By this time you must be asking yourself, “Father Runyon, how do you perform these miraculous tasks? I never knew our food could be so dangerous.”
Well, it’s time to face up to the truth. Let me give you an example: Aerosol Whipped Cream; harmless, tasty, visually appealing. But, let one of these cruel and unrelenting devils penetrate the metallic can and, literally, all Hell can break loose. Just imagine a hot fudge sundae: Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, a generous dollop of Hershey’s Hot Fudge and then, to top it off, Extra Creamy Reddi Whip. You spritz it on and plan to sit down and indulge in this most decadent dessert, but the Reddi Whip refuses to stop, it just keeps coming and coming, overflowing the bowl, spilling out onto the table and then to the floor. Still it keeps coming, a relentless blob engulfing everything in its path. You and your family run screaming from the house as Reddi Ship pours from the windows and doors. Then you remember Rusty, your dachshund, trapped in his pen, undoubtedly drowned or crushed by this white, creamy tsunami. That’s when they turn to me. I get calls like this all the time. Luckily, in this case, I was able to stem the tide of dessert topping, banish the evil fiend to its rightful resting place in the depths of Hell and, happily, rescue Rusty from certain death. We found him, in his pen, passed out, but still breathing, his belly swollen to near bursting by the forced consumption of aerosolized whip cream.
This is just one example of food taken over by the nether world. Let’s talk turkey, as in Thanksgiving Day roast turkey with cornbread stuffing and giblet gravy. November 23, 2006, Great Wappinger Falls, South Dakota, the entire town sits down for a sumptuous, homemade turkey dinner and, just as Pastor Salvatore Linguini is about to slice off the first drumstick, as if on cue, every one of the 40 turkeys that Mrs. Elderberry lovingly roasted rose up and, en masse, attacked the good people of that God fearing town. The town was in a panic and, despite my best efforts, I got there a few moments too late. Poor Tiny Tim, only 19 years old and scheduled to leave for South Dakota State the following year on a football scholarship, was struck down by a knife wielding roast turkey. Let’s just say that from that point on, Great Wappinger Falls celebrated their Thanksgivings with quarter pounders with cheese; shunning turkey for good.
And then there are hot chicken wings. Invented in Buffalo, New York, at least according to legend. However, the truth is that these microcosms of Hell spring directly from the bowels of Satan. Harmless, you say; true a bit hot and spicy, but definitely tasty.
But, have you ever ordered your chicken wings mild, only to have them explode inside your mouth as molten relics from a demonic volcano, burning the unsuspected palate going in and coming out, sending the unfortunate soul into near convulsions. The diner complains, but the chef’s kitchen contains only normal “Frank’s Louisiana Hot Sauce” and, perhaps, a bottle of “Tabasco”. Leave it to Satan’s diabolical henchmen to so corrupt our favorite foods.
“How can we be safe?” you ask. “Is there any way we can be shielded from these evil forces emanating from the underworld?”
Call me, Father Runyon, at 888-555-HELL and my team of ordained priests, specially trained in all the latest exorcism techniques and incantations, will free you and your kitchen from the ravages of food demons. We’ll stop milk from going prematurely rancid, cast out the pesky oven imp, the one that causes casseroles to burn or overflow. We’ll rid your refrigerator of butter trolls and lettuce ogres and all for FREE; that’s right we won’t charge you one penny. Just a small donation to the Runyon Church Fund and expenses.
So, get rid of all your food worries, make your kitchen, dining room and pantry safe. Call Today!
