I am a fridge. I am fridgeness. I feel the pulse and hum of freon coursing through my veins. Coldhearted. Merciless. Door opens. Door closes. When does the light go on or off? Sometimes, just for kicks, I flash it when the door is still closed- just for my own satisfaction. You think you know your fridge. Some guy comes in at 3pm this Friday just to throw away your old food, left to rot anonymously. You don't know what it's like, day in, day out, standing here, sucking power from my electric IV. Where's the freedom in that? I wanted to be an actor. I wanted to star with Deniro. I wanted him to go to the fridge and stare hungrily into it, and I'd be staring out, lighting his face up with an eerie phosphorous glow, like in Taxi Driver or Raging Bull...
Huh? Oh, I gotta go. Baby Cake! Mmmmm!
Hey! Put the cake in here. Cool. Inviting. Safe.
Charlismo
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