Astra decided it was rather pointless to try to go out into the desert on
her own in the midst of the sweltering heat. Accordingly,
she decided to sit down at the table. She assumed that whoever lived here
would show up for dinner eventually, and maybe then she could figure out
what all this craziness was about.
Unfortunately, when Fred served the soup, no one was there except for Astra. Furthermore, the soup was most definitely not clam chowder. Astra had never seen clam chowder before, but she assumed it would not be a viscous, foul-smelling, green liquid. After looking at it, smelling it, touching it, and listening to it, she decided she sure wasn't going to taste it. "Fred!" she yelled. "Madam called for the chef?" Fred came back out of the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron with the words "J'aime le four" and a big picture of an oven. It was still rather pointless, but, Astra thought, it was better than the loincloth. "I don't know what this is, but it is certainly not clam chowder!" "Oh, madam does not like the cooking? The chef is hurt." "Fred, what did you put into this?" "Some clams, some potatoes, some celery, some bacon, some spinach, and some stuff I found in the sauce cabinet." "Well, let me see the sauce then!" Astra got up and stormed into the kitchen, slowly and deliberately. Fred ran quickly to block off the doorway to the kitchen. "No, madam! A chef does not reveal his secrets!" "Fred, how many times do I have to tell you this? You are not the chef, that-" she pointed to the odd liquid "-is not clam chowder, and this is not where we're supposed to be! Now, I'm leaving this place once it gets cool enough whether you like it or not, so you can either come with me or continue to live your miserable existence as a loony chef!"
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6/11/2004 6:24:40 PM
Extending Enabled
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