“You’ve eaten them all?!” protested Superchunkman, peering into the empty tin.

“Yeah, I did,” challenged Dr. Strangefood, with an evil laugh. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I could bake more biscuits,” mused Superchunkman.

“Cookies! Cookies, you idiot!” exploded Dr. Strangefood. “They’re called cookies! Biscuits have gravy on them!”

“Do you know,” spewed Superchunkman, “that I grow weary of your pedantic vocabulary lessons?! That is why,“ he revealed, “I have POISONED the biscuits!”

“You-y-you can’t do that!” stuttered Dr. Strangefood. “You’re the good guy here! I’ll have the union on you! Being evil is my job!!”

“Not any more,” purred Superchunkman.

“That’s crumby!” rasped Dr. Strangefood.

“That’s true,” assured Superchunkman. “But ever since that new superhero Double O’Latte showed up at the Barstucks half a year ago, things have been no fun around here. It’s ‘decaf’ this and ‘low cholesterol’ that, and ‘pass the artificial sweetener’…”

Dr. Strangefood fell to his knees. “You’ll never get away with this, Superchunkman!” he exfoliated.

“Oh, but I shall!” ejaculated Superchunkman over his shoulder, as he walked away. “And don’t call me ‘Superchunkman’ anymore; from now on it’s Lord Biscuitmort to you. Oh — ” he cackled. “I forgot, you don’t have a ‘from now on.’ Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“It — doesn’t — matter,” gasped Dr. Strangefood. “Neither do you.”

“What?” panted Lord Superchunkbiscuitmortman.

“I replaced all your tea with decaf six weeks ago — it’s too late for you now,” expired Dr. Strangefood.

“That is truly evil!” wailed Superchunkman, as he collapsed to the floor. “We’ve left the world to the mercy of Double O’Latte…”

Susan Kaempfer was born in Washington DC. She was a product of the Summer Of Love, and currently lives in Switzerland with her beautifully lunatic husband and three nutty children.  Career highlights include: night-shift in a university hospital pharmacy, flogging jumpers in a tourist trap in Ireland, and one single art show in which she sold enough drawings to buy a ferry ticket from Calais to Rosslare, which was all she needed at the time.

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Every Day Fiction