The Bundt Cake that Ate Cincinnati

Some time in the late 1980s, I wrote this story. I may have had a co-author (Bonnie?) but it’s unclear. After reading this through last night (and laughing my ass off), I think that this may have been one of those times where I took an unbearably boring class assignment (perhaps “use the word phagocytosis in a sentence”) and took it way too far.

Chapter One: “Fred”

Once upon a time, in a galaxy, not too far away – in fact, a galaxy very close to our own; in fact, it was our galaxy; anyway, there lived in a small ramshackle shack on the edge of town (Cincinnati), a man named Fred.

Now, Fred spent most of his days pouring hotdogs at the local hotdog factory, and therefore did not have much money (he got a penny for every hotdog he poured and he was a very slow worker besides). Fred spent most of his nights sleeping. The nights that he didn’t spend sleeping, he sat up watching Benny Hill and Archie Bunker and the Late Damn Late Too Late Show. Fred watched this trash because he was lonely.

Unfortunately, Fred couldn’t drown his loneliness in a bottle of Yukon Jack, simply because he had never heard of Yukon Jack. Nor could Fred afford any other recreational pharmaceuticals to hide his troubles with. So he had practically resigned himself to a life of lame TV and Stouffer‘s frozen dinners.

Chapter Two: “Fred”

The one thing in life Fred wanted more than anything else was a hot babe. But, he reasoned, if he couldn’t have a hot babe, he’d settle for a pet. A dog, a cat, a pet rock, ANYTHING! As long as he didn’t have to feed it. OK, that ruled out the dog and the cat, but a pet rock would be nice. It required no food, no water, no litter box or newspapers, a little polish once in a while, and a little bit of love. And it would be useful, he realized, to throw at the neighborhood kids.

Fred decided to go out and buy himself a pet rock the very next day.

Chapter Three: “Fred and the Bundt cake”

A thud awoke Fred. He was rather annoyed, as he had been having a very nice dream about a very hot babe named Barbie, who had been whispering, “Whip me, beat me, call me BEOWULF”! At first, Fred thought the noise was the morning paper. He figured that he’d probably better go check the front porch, as he didn’t get the morning paper.

Fred opened the front door and stared at the ground, obviously stupefied. What made Fred blow some brain circuits was a tiny little Bundt cake, wrapped in a blanket with a note attached, which read, “Please take good care of my baby Bundt cake.”

This, of course, made Fred very happy, because he would be lonely no longer. He vowed to give his baby Bundt cake the best care he could provide, and to love it always. Fred had always wanted to die a happy man, and now, it seemed, his wishes would be fulfilled.

Chapter Four: “The Bundt cake”

But the Bundt cake had other plans. You see, Bundt cakes grow very slowly. Their lifespan is the same as a human’s, but they never get their growth spurt till their mid 40s. This Bundt was in his mid 30s, and he was a communist spy. His mission was to find out whether the Americans were deserving enough to live, or if they were just plain silly.

Sitting on top of the kitchen table, the Bundt cake (who happened to be named after the God of Panic, Crises) could plainly see the TV and decided to tune in while Fred was at work. Crises got himself a diet cherry Coke from the fridge and a bag of Cheetos cheese balls, sat back, relaxed, and got ready to enjoy a day of American television.

Chapter 5: “The Bundt cake”

People screamed. Blood flew. People got trampled, run over, squashed. Panic was everywhere. One woman’s eyes literally popped out of her head. This happened immediately after she saw… It. A giant Bundt cake was wallowing through the crowds of people on the streets of Cincinnati. By giant, we mean about 97 feet wide by 82 feet high. The Bundt cake was eating everyone that it came across, getting bigger by the meal. Of course, it fed by phagocytosis, as Bundt cakes don’t have mouths. Total destruction seemed certain for the city. It was inevitable doom.

Chapter Six: ”Cincinnati”

It was gone. Cincinnati was gone. In its place sat a giant fat round Bundt cake, happy at last.