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TATAKI TOTS

Raw fish pounded into miraculous shapes
designed to attract new appetite adventurers
on their precarious path to advancement of nutrition goals was
not engineered to be a primadonna ballerina rockstar out of the gates.

Picky mouth holes were the focus group anomalies targeted for change.

Stefano Madagascar was lead creative at Heckifiknow, LLC,
a master lab specializing in the hazy arena of frozen food cash farms.

Angel Butter Broccoli, Gutted Greens, and Barracuda Beets were
achievement head swellers for Stefano being as
all three frozen varietals held regal Food King status
in the Master Yum-Yum ribbon categories for nine years running.

Frozen fish offerings shivering alongside
party pizza nugget wonderlands
had been kryptonite gossip for decades
amongst bagged sustenance tribunals.

Stefano Madagascar relented on his original claims
which cited overwhelming accolades for a
gutsy three-week production run of
Tataki Tots with wasabi flakes for an offshore mock food trial
populated with a smattering of foreign child vessels.

The nine-year cocky cheer parade failed in receiving additional renewal
due to catastrophic thunder dumps experienced by hundreds of volunteering Slovakians.

Forensic examination exposed Stefano’s mysterious binding agent,
causing expeditious torture vacations to latrines after nibbling on
fish guts married to potatoes, was all related to a COGS (Cost Of Goods Sold) issue.

Madagascar was networked into a mob style potato supplier who
offered tremendous discounts on expired to semi-expired potatoes.

In essence, Stefano got a bad batch.

Years later, class action lawsuits were quelled
simply by adding more wasabi flakes
to the grind chow vats at Heckifiknow, LLC allowing Tataki Tots
to capitalize as Food King for yet another smile parade around life.

GHOST

Marvin Cornucopia strived for originality. Marvin’s birth sticker had been Marvin Goatherderson. This surname had been rebranded due to disgusting sentiments endured throughout Marvin’s transition into veganism at the crisp age of nine. Marvin was obliterated by a rampaging herd of retaliatory goats at the unripe age of eleven. Soul Placers was the only sanctified holy launch rehabilitation juncture for ghost spirits. When humanoids were extinguished prematurely, their spirit jackets were ziplined to Soul Placers. Secondary life was a complex Adventure Thru Inner Space style journey as your cloud ghost form existed in a twisted technicolor kaleidoscope throbbing down a labyrinth of rabbit holes. The afterlife was an amalgamation of messy vessel quests run by octopus rainbow super flow juice repurposed out of human oxygen spittle emitted from flesh smiles trudging across Monotony Mountain. Within the dirt world, Marvin Cornucopia believed humans were just all one redundant molecule away from presenting as nacho cheese sauce with a generous helping of jalapenos. Marvin’s intuitive nature did nothing more than suffocate any hope salads from forming or containing any surprise elements, in life and now death, due to his dialed in premonition skill sets. “Sparkle fire life existed with termination of physical existence”, would be one of the secret scribble notes Marvin had made in his daily nerd lab logs. Marvin impregnated his personal life bubble with vision sauce lubricant allowing for quick release exit from the sunlit world. During the age brackets of seven through ten, naïve altar boy Marvin Cornucopia endured sweaty priests who groomed him like a pleasure pocket meatball. Embedded in congregations filled with hypnotized followers, Marvin’s silent screams for rescue were censored due to traditional donut services already in progress. Second life would grant Marvin the transportation module required to deliver personalized karmic missiles to a poisoned smorgasbord of predators. Nudging victims pushed collared monsters into the laicized cornfields where religion paralleled sin. Marvin Cornucopia, now operational as a GHOST, (Ghost Humanoid On Special Teams), was issued a life where he could control the sin.

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Berthed from mischievous leprechauns near technicolor shadow lands surrounding Honah Lee, Theodore Wallbanger rides mysterious sparkle railcars bursting with crunchy cotton candy clouds dispatched from slippery erotic massage vixens who rage pillow laugh hourly within a splintered transportation module that screams along butterscotch wonder tracks forming vibrations for audiences across Sugar Hill Mountain.

Image generated on Magic Studio