Jorge liked living on the edge, although for him that only meant eating things past their expiry date from time to time.
The only reason he would have to is when he was broke again, most of the time due to his radical gambling addiction.
He cant remember the last time he actually won a bet, but that doesn’t stop him from trying again.
“I bet I can eat all the butter on this dish.”, he said holding it out in front of his face, looking at it in confidence.
He started to eat the fat pale yellow substance, stuffing his mouth with it and forcing it down his throat.
Half way done eating he couldn’t keep any of it in and threw up in his wizard hat, which was actually the only thing he ever won in a bet.
So now he was broke and lost his only trophy, the next morning he ate some small chunks of tuna that got kicked underneath the stove, together with a slightly putrid gooseberry he found in the back of his fridge.
The doorbell rang and he walked down and opened the door to see who it was, a man about his height wearing a suit made out of satin stormed into his home and walked to the kitchen table and took a seat.
Jorge chased him yelling, “Who are you? Get out of my house!”
The man was staring at the empty seat in front of him and Jorge say back down, “Uhm, what do you want?”
The man did not reply but kept staring at the minimalistic meal Jorge had prepared for himself.
He looked up at Jorge and asked, “That meal sure looks tasty, care to share it with a fellow hungry earthling?”
Jorge looked down at his plate with only so little on it, “This is all I got left.”
“How about that yummy looking gooseberry? I’ll trade you for it.” The man said licking his lips.
Jorge gave in and got the man a plate and rolled the rotting tomato onto it and sat it down in front of the man.
He quickly ate it and afterwards a big smile appeared on his face, Jorge wondered what would happen next.
Jorge was eating the last chunks of tuna and remembered something his grandmother was always telling him about, but he never truly listened too.
Ever since a little boy she had been warning him of the tomato goblin, off course he imagined something way different until he got bored of her story, and the man sitting in front of him looked normal enough.
Instead of being green and short, and having pointy ears he was alright.
His grandmother told him that if a tomato is somehow left to rot it attracts one of them, and they will never leave your house again.
She also told him how to kill one, but he had a hard time remembering the exact details. He got up and walked over to the counter and grabbed a wine ratchet out of the drawer.
“Got any more?” The man asked.
Jorge turned around and walked back to the table, hiding the ratchet behind his back and asked, “Are you a tomato goblin?”
The man laughed as loud as his voice allowed him too before he started coughing up something that splattered across the kitchen, from the table onto the chairs onto the floor and up on the wall.
Green goo was running down everything and Jorge watched some of it drip of the GI-Joe figure on top of the fridge.
He looked back to the man, who startled him because he was now in full goblin mode, just like how he had imagined it as a child.
Without thinking he jammed the wine ratchet into the goblins eye and pressed it hard enough to push it into his brain, he twisted it around a couple of times and started to pull it back out, removing the entire brain.
The goblin fell onto the floor and looked like it was empty, much like a the rind of a fruit.
Jorge’s body started to tingle and he felt as if he had lost control of his body, and right after he fell down unconscious.
A couple of hours later he finally woke up in a puddle of something he wasn’t sure of.
He picked himself up and looked down at the monstrous scene that his kitchen had become.
There was a man, about his height lying dead on the floor in a puddle of the reddest blood he had ever seen that made him crave an apple for breakfast. Brains were scattered across the counter and there was an eyeball at his feet.
It was staring up at him.
Staring up at him.
The only reason he would have to is when he was broke again, most of the time due to his radical gambling addiction.
He cant remember the last time he actually won a bet, but that doesn’t stop him from trying again.
“I bet I can eat all the butter on this dish.”, he said holding it out in front of his face, looking at it in confidence.
He started to eat the fat pale yellow substance, stuffing his mouth with it and forcing it down his throat.
Half way done eating he couldn’t keep any of it in and threw up in his wizard hat, which was actually the only thing he ever won in a bet.
So now he was broke and lost his only trophy, the next morning he ate some small chunks of tuna that got kicked underneath the stove, together with a slightly putrid gooseberry he found in the back of his fridge.
The doorbell rang and he walked down and opened the door to see who it was, a man about his height wearing a suit made out of satin stormed into his home and walked to the kitchen table and took a seat.
Jorge chased him yelling, “Who are you? Get out of my house!”
The man was staring at the empty seat in front of him and Jorge say back down, “Uhm, what do you want?”
The man did not reply but kept staring at the minimalistic meal Jorge had prepared for himself.
He looked up at Jorge and asked, “That meal sure looks tasty, care to share it with a fellow hungry earthling?”
Jorge looked down at his plate with only so little on it, “This is all I got left.”
“How about that yummy looking gooseberry? I’ll trade you for it.” The man said licking his lips.
Jorge gave in and got the man a plate and rolled the rotting tomato onto it and sat it down in front of the man.
He quickly ate it and afterwards a big smile appeared on his face, Jorge wondered what would happen next.
Jorge was eating the last chunks of tuna and remembered something his grandmother was always telling him about, but he never truly listened too.
Ever since a little boy she had been warning him of the tomato goblin, off course he imagined something way different until he got bored of her story, and the man sitting in front of him looked normal enough.
Instead of being green and short, and having pointy ears he was alright.
His grandmother told him that if a tomato is somehow left to rot it attracts one of them, and they will never leave your house again.
She also told him how to kill one, but he had a hard time remembering the exact details. He got up and walked over to the counter and grabbed a wine ratchet out of the drawer.
“Got any more?” The man asked.
Jorge turned around and walked back to the table, hiding the ratchet behind his back and asked, “Are you a tomato goblin?”
The man laughed as loud as his voice allowed him too before he started coughing up something that splattered across the kitchen, from the table onto the chairs onto the floor and up on the wall.
Green goo was running down everything and Jorge watched some of it drip of the GI-Joe figure on top of the fridge.
He looked back to the man, who startled him because he was now in full goblin mode, just like how he had imagined it as a child.
Without thinking he jammed the wine ratchet into the goblins eye and pressed it hard enough to push it into his brain, he twisted it around a couple of times and started to pull it back out, removing the entire brain.
The goblin fell onto the floor and looked like it was empty, much like a the rind of a fruit.
Jorge’s body started to tingle and he felt as if he had lost control of his body, and right after he fell down unconscious.
A couple of hours later he finally woke up in a puddle of something he wasn’t sure of.
He picked himself up and looked down at the monstrous scene that his kitchen had become.
There was a man, about his height lying dead on the floor in a puddle of the reddest blood he had ever seen that made him crave an apple for breakfast. Brains were scattered across the counter and there was an eyeball at his feet.
It was staring up at him.
Staring up at him.
