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They're Magically Delicious submitted 2009.06.26 10:05 AM by Thornicus viewed 1837 times

Erik slammed his fist down on the dinner table in a drunken stupor. "Finish all yer beer, young man! Or you'll have no whiskey for dessert!" he screamed at his son.

Lucky trembled in fear. "But, dad...I...I don't...I don't like to drink. It makes me feel funny," he moaned.

"WHAT?! No Irish son of mine will grow up without learning to like liquor!"

"But...but Dad..."

"NO BUTS! Now DRINK it! Or else!" Erik punctuated his threat with a raised fist. His hands were huge, almost the size of small hams. "Oka...Okay, Dad," Lucky sighed, and resigned himself to drinking the pint of ale in front of him. Before he was finished, his stomach started to violently convulse from the mixture of the hops with the contents of his lunch. "Dad?" he moaned.

"What is it now?" Erik replied. "I...I don't feel so good," Lucky uttered, fighting the urge to regurgitate then and there. "Can I go lay down now?" After looking at his glass, his father said, "Well, I suppose you've drunk enough for now. All right." Lucky pushed his chair away and ran out of the kitchen. Ten seconds later, the sounds of retching echoed from the bathroom down the hall. After a brief pause of silence, the toilet flushed, followed by the opening of the door, running footsteps, and then the sound of Lucky's bedroom door slamming shut.

"Damn fool boy," Erik muttered, shaking his head. "He's got his mother's stomach, as well as her hair."

"I HEARD THAT!" Jules bellowed from the den. She stuck her head into the kitchen. "Why do you insist on making him drink so? It's not healthy for such a young boy, you know. He's only ten."

"Well, if he doesn't learn to drink now, who knows what kind of trouble he might get himself into when he's older?" he argued. "Besides, one beer and one whiskey a day won't kill the lad." Jules shook her head and sighed, "You really are an idiot."

While they continued bickering, Lucky sobbed in his room. His stomach and throat were sore from the acidic contents passing back through just minutes ago. "Stupid bloke," he muttered. "Who does Dad think he is, anyway, making me drink when I don't wanna?" Suddenly, a light bulb went off in his head. "If Dad doesn't want me without drinking, then I'll just run away," he said. "I'll run away to Italy! They'll treat me nice there!" Grabbing some oat rings and marshmallows for food, Lucky stuffed them into a bag, then opened his window, jumped out, and ran towards the eastern port of Belfast.


Two weeks later, Lucky sneaked off of the fisherman's boat into western Italy. He smelled like mackerel and looked like he had been stuffed into a cedar chest, his clothes were so wrinkled. But at least now he was away from his maniacal father. "At last!" he cried. "Italy!"

Breathing the fresh air in, Lucky looked around, and then the reality of the situation struck him. Now what was he supposed to do? He had no one to provide him with food and shelter, and he was only ten years old. If he couldn't find a means of making a living soon, the authorities would make him go back to Ireland, and there would be hell to pay from his father.

After thinking for a moment and scratching his head, Lucky suddenly remembered that he had brought his mom's oats and marshmallows with him. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "I'll recreate her famous cereal that she serves at the bed-and-breakfast. Everybody loves her Oat 'n Mallow Charms!"

And so Lucky set out to find a chef in Italy that would be willing to buy the recipe for his mom's cereal. Everywhere that he went, though, Lucky was turned down. "It's good," they'd say. "But it seems to be missing something. Sorry, kid." Lucky couldn't understand it. He was mixing the contents just as he'd seen his mother do it in their kitchen. Munching on a handful of oat rings and marshmallows that had been handed back to him, Lucky said to himself, "They're right. Something IS missing. Mom must put something else in the cereal that I don't know about." But what? What could that magical ingredient be?

Lucky was almost entirely out of his supply of oat rings and marshmallows. He knew that without the secret ingredient, his fortune would soon run out, and then he would be forced to live a life of crime or return to Ireland. Dejected, Lucky walked down the street with his head hung low. Suddenly, he saw a sign in front of him exclaiming "FREE PUBLIC GYMNASIUM." "Exercise!" Lucky perked up. "That'll boost me spirits." He bolted into the gym, threw his bag of oats and marshmallows in a cubby, and jumped onto the empty adductor machine to begin a round of circuit training.

One hour later, Lucky was just about finished with his cool down on the treadmill when he saw a large, sweaty man reaching into his cubby and taking out his food. Lucky jumped off and ran toward the obese stranger. "Pardon me, sir!" he yelled. "That's MY food, and I need it."

The man scowled at Lucky. "Name's Anthony, not 'Mister', and it's MINE now, twerp," he growled in a thick Italian accent, and stuffed a handful of oats in his mouth. "Hey, you even got marshmallows in here!" he exclaimed, shoving his fist into the bag and filling his cheeks with the sugary treats.

"Stop it!" Lucky hollered. "I mean it! I need that food to make a living!" "So?" Anthony frowned, and held the bag above Lucky's head, just out of his reach. He towered three feet over the boy, and was clearly the stronger of the two. "Please, please, please!" Lucky begged him.

"You want it so bad? Fine! But see if you want it after seeing...THIS!" the fat man exclaimed, as he reached into his pants and whipped out his penis. Lucky started giggling. "What's so funny?!" Anthony roared. "Hahaha...it's just that...you're so big...and that's...so...small!" He rolled around on the floor in a fit of mirthful laughter.

"Shut up, you little dick!" With that, Anthony wrapped his hand around his fist and began to furiously pump himself, ejaculating seconds later into the bag of oat rings and marshmallows. Lucky stopped laughing and screamed, "NO! You've ruined it! Jerk!" He tried to throw a punch at his aggressor, but missed and tripped over his feet onto the gym floor.

Rubbing the bag of semen-coated cereal on his sweaty stomach, Anthony laughed and said, "Merda dura, little man. Let's see how well you like it NOW, though," and shoved the bag of sweaty, sticky cereal in Lucky's face before walking away.

Lucky choked for a few seconds on the cereal lodged in this throat, spit it out, and then paused as if in thought. Licking his lips, he reached into the bag, grabbed a small handful of the tainted food, and tasted some more. This time, a smile came to his face as he chewed and swallowed. "Eureka!" Lucky exclaimed. "That's it! The secret ingredients! Just like Mom makes!"

At least Dad was good for something, Lucky pondered to himself as he gathered the spilt cereal into his bag and dashed out the door of the gymnasium towards the restaurant across the street. His obese assailant was getting into a car less than three metres away on his right. "Thanks, Fat Tony!" he sang at the top of his voice as he passed the car and ran across the street into the restaurant.

"Whatever, you fucking leprechaun freak," Anthony grumbled, and started his car as Lucky stood on the other side of the road delivering his sales pitch to an amused chef:

"Would you like to try me frosted Lucky Charms? They're magically delicious!"

rating: 5

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