No, this story isn't kinky, but it is funny. I've been looking for it for years and assumed it got destroyed by my mom during one of her psychotic fits. This story is a fine example of writing as a form of masturbation; I wrote it for no other reason than to pleasure myself and to have fun. Enjoy the laugh!
Who Killed Chef Boyardee?
By: Laurie Richards
Colby and Monterey were taking their time making their nightly rounds. There was no need for them to hurry; it was quiet and everyone was minding their own business.
At 1:32 AM the silence was broken by a horrible scream followed by a crash. Colby and Monterey broke into a run, searching the aisles. Aisle seven, the canned food aisle, was in utter disarray. The Campbells, Hormels, and Dinty Moores were crowding around in a circle, clearly surrounding the crime scene. Others from nearby aisles were increasing the crowd by the moment.
The Campbell soup kids were bleary-eyed, crying and trying to comfort one another. Dinty Moore and Hormel were looking on in silence. Usually they were the troublemakers, arguing over whose chili was the best; but here they were, neighbors putting aside their differences.
Tomato sauce was everywhere. The insides of Chef Boyardee were oozing from the cans of Beef Ravioli and Spaghettios. Monterey immediately called 409, but he knew it was too late for everyone’s favorite chef.
“Were there any witnesses?” Colby asked.
“We were partying at our place,” the Campbell’s tomato soup kid said, “we came out when we heard the screaming.”
Dinty Moore had been at the Campbell kids’ party and Hormel told Colby and Monterey that he had been awakened by Chef Boyardee’s mortal screams.
Colby and Monterey broke up the crowd and began to search for clues. There was a trace of flour in Chef Boyardee’s place on the shelf, rather unusual considering baking products were six aisles away from the crime scene. Colby and Monterey took a sample of the flour and after searching and not finding any other clues, they returned to their office to decide on a course of action.
Colby and Monterey were trying to figure out who would want to see Chef Boyardee wiped off the face of the store shelves when they heard a timid knock on their door. “Come in,” they called. Cup O’ Noodle entered and took the seat that was offered to her.
“What can we do for you, Ma’am?” Monterey asked.
“I think I know something about Chef Boyardee’s murder,” she said in her quiet Irish accent. “I didn’t see anything,” she admitted, “it’s just that—well, there were things going on in the Chef Boyardee section; he was always leaving and he seemed happier than usual, at least from across the aisle where I live.”
“Any idea where he went, Ms. O’Noodle?” Colby asked.
“Well, I couldn’t see where he was going, but he always made a left turn at the end of the aisle.”
“One more question, Ms. O’Noodle,” he continued, examining his notes, “did Chef Boyardee have more visitors than usual?”
Cup O’Noodle was silent, choosing her words carefully. “Chef Boyardee has always been popular; he’s never had any enemies. I guess when I think about it, yes. Perhaps there were more visitors than usual, but I never thought any of them would do this!” her composure broke and she began to weep loudly.
“We know this is hard for you, Ms. O’Noodle, but any names you can give us would be of great help in solving this case.” Monterey tried to sooth her.
She hesitated but finally said, “Mrs. Smith, I’ve seen Louis Rich and Betty Crocker, too. There was someone else, but I didn’t recognize the packaging.”
“You’ve been a huge help to us, Ms. O’Noodle.”
“I hope you find out who did this,” she said as she was getting ready to leave, “no food is safe until the criminal is found and brought to justice!”
********
“Mrs. Smith, may I have a word with you?” Colby asked.
Mrs. Smith opened the freezer door and welcomed her guest inside. “What can I do for you?” She asked, smiling a generous grandmotherly smile.
“Have you heard about Chef Boyardee?”
“Has something happened to him that I should be aware of?”
“He’s dead, Ma’am.”
Mrs. Smith looked like she wanted to topple over and faint. “Dead? How can that be?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Ma’am. Can you tell me anything that might help?”
“He was such a sweet fellow! I can’t imagine who would do such a vile, cruel thing!”
“Ma’am, why did you start visiting him? It’s a rather warm client for you.”
“Well, it’s really quite innocent,” she explained without batting an eye, “He liked my cream pies and I liked his meatballs and ravioli. We developed a close friendship and we meet—I mean, met, to exchange food.”
“I see,” Colby nodded, although he wasn’t sure he really understood, “did he ever tell you anything about trouble with a neighbor or anyone else?”
“Never. All we talked about was pie and pasta. The only thing that bothered him was what his new pasta shapes should be.”
*****************
Monterey went down aisle seven. Things had quieted down somewhat; the cans had returned to their places; the Campbell kids were passed out on their shelves, after drinking themselves into a stupor so they wouldn’t think of what they saw, and everyone else was speaking quietly to their neighbors or had gone to sleep.
He turned left at the end cap where he met a display of Ritz crackers. “Are you looking for something, my dear man?” a snooty, deep voice addressed Monterey.
“Have you heard about Chef Boyardee?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe we did hear a bit of a raucous earlier tonight.”
“Can you tell me where Chef Boyardee occasionally went when he left this aisle?”
“We’re terribly sorry, sir, but we only moved to this locale this afternoon and we are unable to tell you what the habits of the locals are.”
“Do you know who resided here previously?”
“We believe the Doritos were the previous residents.”
Monterey went to aisle four where the Doritos were comfortably resting, surrounded by bags filled with similar contents and plenty of dip.
“Ola,” the Doritos greeted Monterey.
“Uh—hello,” he replied, “Did you just move from the display at the end of aisle seven?”
“Si, Senor.”
“Do you know where Chef Boyardee went when he left his aisle?”
“He goes often to aisle two, Senor. Has he done something wrong?”
“He was killed.”
Aisle two was the pasta and bread aisle. Monterey went from section to section asking the residents what they knew about Chef Boyardee.
“He came around here to talk about the business,” Kraft told him, “you know how important the business is to us pastas—dried or otherwise.”
“Lately he hasn’t been stopping by for a visit,” American Beauty pouted, her manicotti cracking ever so slightly, “We’re just a thoroughfare for getting to the refrigerator section!”
Monterey headed over to the refrigeration section where he met Colby who was greeting Louis Rich.
“The Hidden Valley Ranch Dips pointed me in this direction,” he told Colby.
“Something’s just not right about this,” Colby shook his head, “I mean, what is a can doing over here? It’s way out of his territory.”
“Hopefully we’re about to find out.”
Louis Rich turned out to be useless. “All we did is talk about his meatballs. I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about their meatballs in my life.”
A curdling scream interrupted their questioning of Louis Rich. From where they stood in the refrigerated aisle one they could see what was happening. “Call 409!” Colby shouted at Louis Rich as he ran right behind Monterey further down the aisle.
A floury substance was everywhere. Betty Crocker was lying wounded in the middle of the aisle, her contents scattered out of her box. She was showing very few signs of life. The Pillsbury Doughboy wasn’t even trying to hide his popgun. “I’m poppin’ mad now!” He was screaming at the top of his lungs, “The Chef and you knew it all along! You knew what you were doing to me!”
Doughboy looked up and realized that he had been caught in the act. “Stop! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” he lifted the gun to his flour white chef’s hat.
“Easy now,” Colby whispered to his partner.
“Yeah, we don’t want it any messier than it already is.” Monterey agreed.
“What did they do to you, Doughboy?” Monterey asked, slowly approaching the perpetrator.
“Nothin! That’s just it. They were always havin’ a great time. I mean, I have more to offer him than old Betty Crocker—just have a look at my breadsticks! They’re long and flaky and just poppin’ fresh! My cookies and rolls are hot and fresh. All Betty Crocker could give him was her stupid cakes and brownies!
“Then I heard he wanted to get to know Quaker Oats better…even though that old man has had a thing with Aunt Jemima for like a hundred years! There was no need for him to look any further than me!
“I’m better than any of them! Now he’s sorry he didn’t take my proposals seriously! They’re all sorry they didn’t take me seriously! I had to do this so they’d see I’m not some kid with a cute tummy and innocent smile! Now everyone will listen to me!” he laughed madly.
A crowd was beginning to form. 409 arrived on the scene with Mr. Clean who came along because it had been a busy night for 409. Mr. Clean assessed the situation and immediately knew what they needed to do to stop the Doughboy’s mad rampage. Monterey and Colby had worked with Clean before. All they had to do was keep the Doughboy talking for a few more seconds.
“Why did you want the chef anyways,” Monterey queried, “There are boys closer to your age and location who would’ve been interested,”
“Like Hamburger Helper or Ben and Jerry if you wanted a threesome,” Colby added.
“There was just something about his Spaghettios and meatballs. I loved his meatballs,” Pillsbury Doughboy sighed.
Mr. Clean took the Pillsbury Doughboy by complete surprise, wrestling the popgun away with one hand while arresting the culprit with the other.
“Thanks for the helping hand,” Monterey said as they started hauling the Pillsbury Doughboy away.
Mr. Clean grinned and replied, “Anything to keep the aisles clean and safe for everyone.”
