On something evil lurking in the kitchen

On something evil lurking in the kitchen

"What – in the name of all that is holy - is that smell coming from downstairs?"

I hesitate to tell her, but the truth must out.

"You know dogs?"

"Yes. Yes we have one."

"And you know that Jackson Pollock?"

"Yeeeesss…"

She sounds suspicious, and I do not blame her. Poor, dead J. Pollock – he has so much to answer for.

"Well, imagine he had what you might call a 'brown period'. And instead of paint, he squeezed poor, sweet, shat-all-over-the-kitchen Lucy Minogue like a set of bagpipes."

"Right. And how much is 'all over the kitchen'?"

"Further than you think possible. I didn't notice until I was halfway to the fridge."

"Bare feet?"

"Slippers. They are burning outside. That's the other smell."

I flee.