Spaghetti Frank

Frank liked to spell his name without the r. Frank liked to talk about his childhood. Particularly all the spaghetti he ate as a child. Apparently Frank ate more spaghetti than the average child. He claimed he would run into the kitchen and spy it on the table and then steal away at a rat scurry underneath the coffee table in his living room and then gorge on it bare handed without the use of utensils. His mother would scream at him under the coffee table. She would scream, "Frank, you retarded little # wit! You little #ing abortion! # you Frank! You are ruining my life!" Soon though his mother would drift off in her communication..."You know Frank, I could have been the first transexual astronaut. I could have been a big #ing deal Frank...I made my own spaceship, I #ed JFK in his pretty little Irish mouth...I used to collect #ing grasshoppers and I learned how they hopped so far and I integrated that knowledge in with my spaceship design but then those government #s stole my design. They are out populating planets with their big homo babies and I got left here on earth with you..." A small stream of droll slept from the top of her lip somehow. She slurped it back in. Making a really big deal out of it. She leaned over on one leg. Possibly posing for an imaginary photographer. From under the coffee table Frank threw a toupee at his mother. It hit her on her chest - which was heaving still - and stuck there. Frank said, "Momma, there is a tarantula on your titties, you mantits!" And he laughed and laughed, tomato paste laughter rang out from under the table. His mother said, " I will show you mantits! and she ripped off her blouse...soon her nipples morphed into insects and flew off into the hallway, flying into the 60 watt bulb that provided light to the hallway. Over and over again they popped into the bulb. It would never end it seemed. Possibly these nipple born insects were the meaning of eternity. Both Frank and his mother pondered this for a moment. Their brains locked in synchronous union, for one time only, and for only a second. Yet in this second his mother tasted her delicious spaghetti. She liked to use Vodka in her sauce. Then she understood. She rushed under the coffee table herself and joined her son in shoving handful after handful into her greasy mouth. Soon, there was no spaghetti left. At this time they said their prayers thanking God for her luck in mouth #ing JFK and making such great spaghetti. "Not so many people have such luck" whimpered Frank's mother. I know mother, I know...I sometimes wish I was you, with all this spaghetti making and so on." Frank's mother then crawled out from under the coffee table. She washed her hands. She tidy'd up her blouse and wiped the sauce from her face and breast. She picked up her cell phone and called the police. She dialed the wrong number. She looked at her paperwork on the table. It all looked like noodles. She feared possession. She called out to Frank. Frank became the priest and exorcised her. The exorcism lasted 3 minutes. After that everything returned to normal. The sun set with purple and pink fluffy clouds and a rabbit hopped around in the yard and just didn't care

Something tells me "Frank" likes to cook his hot dogs in Spaghetti-O's.

a reply to: IgnoranceIsntBlisss

Yeah, sort of a sick thought.