Hank & Greta: A Cautionary Tale

*Hey guys! I’ve been giving myself different, fun writing exercises to distract myself from the world and discovered an unhealthy interest in butchering fairy tales! Enjoy!!*

Greta: Well, she came highly recommended on Airbnb, but I’m starting to think all those reviews were made up. I mean, ALL of them mentioned candy and I thought “man, that’s weird” but then I really wanted a 5th Avenue Bar and super forgot about the slight weirdness…

Hank: *loud, snotty sniff*

Officer: Yeah, skip to when you got here.

Greta: Sure, okay. Well, it was pretty late, so we used the keypad code to get in. Our flight was delayed and there was this kid sitting in front of us with some kind of “condition”. His farts smelled rotten barbecue onions….

Hank: …I thought immediately “Wow, this is a nice neighborhood, why are there bars on the windows?” but Greta told me to stop being a bummertron so I let it go.

Greta: No, I called you a dumbfuckatron for thinking the rock garden was a bunch of weird mushrooms…


Officer: …..

Greta: So we pretty much just fall into bed. The whole room smelled like vanilla and sugar, which was pretty nice… like Bath & Body Works during the holidays.

Hank: Overly sweet, like knockoff Bath & Body Works on a stripper.

Greta: But it smelled better than barbecue onion farts so who cares.

Hank: We woke up at 6 am to abnormally loud, off-key humming coming out of the kitchen. Figuring our host was up, we wanted to apologize for coming in so late. So, we made our way to the kitchen, and that’s….that’s…

Greta: That’s when all the weird shit hit the shit fan.

Hank: Yeah it did.

Greta: Candy wrappers EVERYWHERE. Like when Willie has to walk through all those bugs in Temple of Doom, except with candy wrappers.

Hank: The kitchen was sweltering and abnormally large… HGTV large.

Greta: There was a minivan sized brick oven in the corner, which got me excited for a sec because brick-oven pizza whaaaa?! But then I noticed the human sized cages on either side of the oven.

Officer: Cages.

Hank: Yeah. Cages. Were you not allowed in there? Are you like a detective in training or something?

Greta: YEAH. So I turn to Hank to be all “What tha fuck?!” when I see this crazy cat lady looking motherfucker in a McCain/Palin t-shirt RUNNING over to us with a giant ladle over her head and before I could properly react — because HOW DO YOU REACT TO THAT — she hits Hank over the head with it like a Golden Girl on PCP.

Hank: She was pretty weak, though. I’ve got a good knot there but no permanent dama-

Greta: So then she comes at me but decides the ladle isn’t gonna cut it, so she produces a goddamn cleaver from UNDER the McCain/Palin shirt. I take off towards the 88 Chevy Astro pizza oven, hoping to find some sort of knife or large spatula or really stale baguette to fend off Screechy McFloppy tits-

Hank: I come up behind her while she’s prepping to cleave Greta and try to lift her up and, kinda, you know, throw her to a safe distance.

Officer: Throw her?

Hank: Yeah.

Officer: …

Hank: …

Greta: She totally got thrown into the pizza oven.

Officer: …

Hank: …

Greta: No way those reviews were legit.

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