The Fan Man Smoothie

The Fan Man Smoothie

I received a blender, man, as partial payment for an unmentionable act of kindness. So now I’m loading it up, man, watch carefully how my smoothie is prepared. I’ll just take a little bit of this gray stuff that’s been creeping slowly along the kitchen counter for some months, man. Penicillin mold may be one of its components, so it’s a natural antibiotic. Healthy living has always been my goal.

And now, man, I’ll use my Horse Badorties fake silver soup spoon with the fruiting fungus pattern on the handle. It’s a classic, man, and I have matching asparagus tongs. I spoon into the blender some colorful trail mix with raisins. Or they could be dead roaches, man, the contours are similar. Now a little protein powder to improve muscle tone in my bone, and a few Tibetan yak nuts, shelled of course. What’s missing, man? Curdled milk should do it, man, and here’s some right where it should be, in the curdled milk section of the refrigerator. Finally, a pinch of Acapulco Herbal Seasoning. Make that several pinches. Or let’s say a generous handful, for a smoothie with buzz.
It’s startup time, man, how wonderful.

Turning on the motor, man. It’s a very powerful motor and should cut right through the ingredients.

The blender is shaking wildly, man, with a tremendous clanking noise. There goes the lid, man, straight for the ceiling. Plaster, man, is falling into my smoothie and the blender is running across the kitchen counter, shattering everything in its path. I’m down, man, crouching as the blender hops over me into the sink. Fine filthy dishware is shattering, man, jagged edges flying at high velocity and burying themselves deep into the wall. The blender hops out the other side of the sink and spins my way.

It’s eyeing me, man, smoothie bubbling out of its head.
It’s charging, man, and I’m retreating quickly through the pad. Its following me, man, it just cut a path through Hill 14, a years worth of kitty litter destroyed in an instant. What a pity, man, my cat had a work in progress there.

But I’m okay, man, I’m in the bedroom and I’ve closed the door.

The blender is breaking down the door, man, the hinges just popped. The door is on the floor and the blender is staring at me, man, as it sends a shower of smoothie to the ceiling.

“Calm down, man. You’re out of control.”

No good, man, it’s not listening. I think I know why. There was a touch of speed in the herbal seasoning, man. It’s the only reason for this display of frenzied activity. Since there’s no possibility of communication here, man, another defensive posture is called for.

Eating Beefaroni in bed as twilight falls is one of life’s little pleasures, man, and it has produced a wall of empty Beefaroni cans behind which I am now seeking shelter. Here comes the blender, man, emitting deranged cries and intent on blending me, man. I’m going to have to brain it with a bedpost. Fortunately my bed was disassembled during strenuous copulation and I’ve got the bedpost in hand, man.

This is it, man, here it comes.

But it stops suddenly, coughing and sputtering, then falls silent. I approach cautiously and look inside. And now, man, now all comes clear. I inadvertently left my fake silver spoon with the fruiting fungus handle in there, man, and it wrapped itself around the blade in a twisted tangle of metal that unbalanced the machine, causing the dance of delirium we have just witnessed.

I blended my blender, man. A unique culinary interlude.

I’ll see you here next week, man, for another installment of Better Living with Horse Badorties. If I’m late, wait for me.