TREMBLE BEFORE THE LORD OF SNACKS!

By Serge Rostov

The door to Doobie’s Quik Pik bursts open, and in thunders the Lord of Snacks astride a towering, coal-black stallion with eyes like flaming rubies.

As the Lord of Snacks guides his mighty steed down the main aisle, he leans across a saddle hewn of gleaming obsidian and snatches packages of powdered mini-donuts, fried pies and chocolatey Ding Dongs, which he secures in a black velvet sack.

A display of NASCAR key chains is crushed under a foursome of fearsome hooves as the Lord of Snacks gallops to the roller grill, relieving it forthwith of its juicy hot dogs and crispy Taquitos.

But he is not done yet. Sheathed beneath his dark cloak is a 96-ounce travel mug, which the Lord of Snacks fills with a roiling downpour of Mr. Pibb.

And then he is gone, furiously galloping through the parking lot and down the lonely frontage road, deeper and deeper into the moonless summer night.

(This terse offering from Serge Rostov has been declared "plagiaristic poppycock" by literary rival Fenton Hammersmith, author of Supermarket Badass and a fellow veteran of the Crimean War. It is well known that Hammersmith has never forgiven Rostov for what he refers to as the "undergarment incident at Sebastopol.")