Odd Comedic Short. :P

So after getting upset, my brain decided to cook up something so insane that it just might be as funny as it is kinda strange. In a way it feels like a quick crude and crass story that an angsty teen or young adult who happens to listen to a fair bit of Cannibal Corpse might use that as a point of reference in telling a strange story about a diner, and more specifically about an elderly waitress. Oddly enough it is just a quick riff based upon those two ideas, and this is the insanity of a fast paced short, that I hope in the very least isn't taken all that seriously, as well as not taken as my personal thoughts on the subject matter. It is just suppose to be a fun little story to counteract being angry, and has nothing to do with anything beyond being entertaining.


Diner Pie... (893 wrds)

You know that old diner. The one that hasn’t escaped the decade it was built in, and hasn’t done much beyond converting the old gas lighting to electric, because of OSHA standards. You always feel at home there, even the first time you ever stepped foot in there. It just has that odd enticing feel that you are just comfortable with, and you’ll never be able to explain it to any of your friends or loved ones.

Along with that one old waitress, you know the one. She smells like cigarettes and perfume that you are certain cost a small fortune, that she happened to stockpile back in the 40’s when it was the ‘hopping’ thing.

“Good morning hon,” or some derivative she says in that harsh raspy voice of hers. The one that comes from smoking a pack of smokes before 10am, which can be likened to the same kind you would expect from someone who was gargling glass shards while deep-throating a steel cock. You shudder at the horrible image in your mind, while trying to hide it under the guise of being polite.

After your first few visits and you become a ‘regular’, and every time you walk in that door she smiles at you with a sparkle in her wrinkled eye. It seems odd that she would take a shine to you specifically, but whatever. Suppose the rest of the regulars are just too regular, or there is just something about you that she takes fancy too.

Regardless she always go out her way to freshen your coffee, or offer to get you a little something extra. After you have been going there every Tuesday for the past three years. When you realize that you have aged, and she is stuck at somewhere between 68 and Methusala. And after a while you feel you know her pretty well, having politely listened to her life’s history. While your not quite up on your history, you still don’t dare challenge her stories grandeur, and instead ask how the pie is today.

At five years she has become the sweetly devilish grandmother you never asked for. The way you both always seem to laugh together every time she fills up the coffee for the yuppy that always sits at the counter every day for 10 hrs because they happen to have ‘free wifi’. Suppose the yuppy wouldn’t be laughing if he knew she made a ‘special’ pot of coffee every morning just for him, since he always complains about how awful it is, but always orders it anyway.

As the months wear on she gets more and more flirty with you, and you can hear the cooks in the back crack wise about how you two are an ‘item’, and you flush with a bit of embarrassment. Though you know on more than one occasion have noticed the faded silk stockings bunched up about her skeletal ankles that fade into a pair of white orthopedic shoes, that look new if they were from the 50’s.

Since you have found your routine that hasn’t changed in 6 years, and you are growing quite fond of the old waitress that you take compliment to the once previous ribbing from the cooks. That and you have taken a liking receiving home made cookies at Christmas in a Rockwellien tin, that was probably collecting dust in her attic for the better half of a century. As well as that extra slice of pie on your birthday. All the while you have wondered just how pretty she must have been back in the day, when there was still meat on her corpse, and her body was firmer. At this point you can’t help but wonder about such things as how youthful her now windsock gravity trodden tits were, as her scents of perfume and tobacco waft heavily as she leans in low and close to fill your coffee cup, while snow flutters on a light breeze.

By this point you are so sucked into things, you have managed to think all sorts of things that you would and should be ashamed of, every time you walk in that diner. Yet you hide and repress all of it behind a friendly smile and pleasant greeting.

Until that day finally comes when you are bound up naked and blindfolded to a chair made of old oak, and pretty sure you have a few splinters in your ass. And once you feel the gentle bony fingers remove the blind fold, you’re greeted to a sight that leaves you literally at a loss for words. Never mind the military uniform that somehow survived WWII, and would be amazing on a woman a fraction her age.

She looks down at you with her stick thin leg up on the chair between yours, and you see the garter holding up the stockings, crimped tightly around a pair of long white silken panties that all women her age would wear.

“Don’t you want to know how the pie is hon,” she rasps with a smile taking a long draw on a fresh cigarette.