Are you finding it hard to keep food in your refrigerator? I know I am. It’s uncanny. Every time I open it, there’s less food. Yesterday, I made some sandwiches for lunch and when I opened the refrigerator later for dinner, there was less luncheon meat, cheese, bread and mayonnaise than there was the day before. As they say in text messaging, “What the Fairydust?” The day before, I was eating my freshly cooked pasta, and noticed there to be even less food hiding in the corners of the kitchen than there was before I started cooking. I think I know what’s going on. I don’t like to think about it, but I’m pretty convinced that the refrigerator is eating all of the food.

I know what you’re thinking. A food-eating refrigerator, that’s demonic! I know it’s got to be in the Bible somewhere. I searched through several pages in Revelations, but haven’t found the word “fridge” yet. I think it may be because back then they used ice in their fridges and called them “ice boxes”. Next time I see a Bible lying around, I’ll work up the courage and browse through the index and look for it.

In the meantime, what do I do? There’s a demonic refrigerator in my kitchen eating all of my food. Expensive food, too! Have you noticed the prices lately? They’re going through the roof. It’s as if, as if… oh my god. The devil. My refrigerator must be praying to the devil for expensive food. But the devil has better things to do than listen to the requests of just one Sears clone… there’s got to be more to it. Holy water, Batman! That’s it! It isn’t just my refrigerator! It’s several. Many. Perhaps… all. It may be that all of the refrigerators in the country are praying at once in some kind of Satanic Fridge Revival. They’ve all organized and are chanting the evil Om of Expensive Food. “Feed me, oh dark Lord. Feed me with your expensive food.”

We’re helpless. We’re as helpless from this onslaught as we are from the killer bran flakes. I tell you, the terror in this world is everywhere. First the meat for my lunches, and now meals in general are in peril. There’s no telling what will happen if I don’t keep feeding that Pandora’s box of a chill chest. It’s electric! It’s metallic! It’s supplying too much power. I’m losing control over it.

There’s really only one solution. I have to give in and feed the beast. It’s like Stephen King says: comply with the monster, and it will leave you alone. Don’t, and it will come after you. The sight of a hulking Sears brand coming up the stairs with its buzzing electrical plug aimed right at me is enough to make me sleep with my underpants on. But I can’t do that. I sweat profusely in the middle of the night. The only way out is to let it feed.

Quality doesn’t matter. Those artsy-fartsy organic food stores may sell quality food, but it’s the price that’s important. It must be expensive food. Food sold at Korean stores in L.A., for instance. Food sold in the San Francisco Bay Area and the Hawaiian Islands. Food from those hard-to-find ethnic places that sell dessert-y stuff like Baklava and Tiramisu. And let’s not forget drinks. No Bud for me. It must be Guinness and Rouge and only the finest crafted beers from those independent breweries.

I have to go home tonight. I don’t want to. It’s there. Waiting for me. Waiting for me to bring it some filet mignon. I tried to explain my situation to it, but I don’t think it listens. It just stands there as if it’s some kind of inanimate object. Buzzing. Sometimes it doesn’t make any noise at all, and that’s precisely when I’m the most afraid of it. At least when it buzzes, I know it’s awake, but when it’s quiet, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s sleeping, perhaps not.

Sometimes I think I should try to unplug it. Maybe with a broom handle. Just walk casually up to it with a long broom and go…oops! Just sweeping out some cobwebs in the back here. That’s all, just sweeping a few cobwebs, yep. No. It has to be more overtly covert than that. Perhaps I’ll get a friend to “help” me reposition it on the other side of the kitchen. Then, when we walk in, I can talk to them very loudly about the move. “Yes, it’ll look so much better over here. Just going to push it. Unplug it, move it, and plug it back in again right here. Yes, sir!” Then, once the plug is out, I can get it the hell out of my life. Only then will my problem will be solved…unless. If it can come up the stairs in the middle of the night then it can…oh my god.