TCHS Rampage

Temple City High School


January 17, 2017

Local man eats vermin; reports findings

As I made my daily trip to the Metro Supermarket’s frozen meats section, I discovered something truly disgusting —  so horrid, in fact, that I began to see stars, as if I were peering at Orion’s belt itself, completely losing my desire to even imagine food anymore: their raccoon meat…was completely SOLD OUT.  After a brief hospital visit (during which my raccoonoligist told me that it was a miracle that I pulled through) I decided to fully devote my life to the art of devouring raccoon.
I once again returned to the Metro Supermarket after steeling my resolve to search for the one item, the one object that I have dedicated myself to. As soon as I entered the building I Usain-Bolted toward the frozen meats and indulged in the animalistic instinct to hunt my prey. When I reached the aisle, the butterflies in my heart did backflips. I was so relieved to find my beloved delicacy still available.
I snatched it up gingerly, cradling it as a new mother would cradle her firstborn. Whispering sweet assurances to my bundle of joy, I hurried to the register and purchased it.
“At last! This furry little bandit is finally mine!” I victoriously cried out, along with a mad cackle, a jubilant squeal and a triumphant squack.
Upon my return home I set about fixing my furry supper.  I donned my chef hat and smooched the framed photo of Gordon Ramsay hung above the stove, asking it to bring me luck on this culinary adventure. While I was skinning the beast, I let my raccoon-devouring fantasies run wild, almost resuling in the accidental removal of the raccoon’s tail! That would have been most unfortunate, as it is my favorite part.
I chucked the mask-clad critter in the fryer, my thoughts all in a jumble. It occured to me how close I was to tasting the delicious meal of my dreams. At this point, I was so excited I could barely remember my own name. Fortunately, it was just then that I heard a loud “Ding!” that snapped me back to my senses: my raccoon had finished cooking.
“It matters not who I am,” I thought to myself. “All that matters is this raccoon in my stomach!” I set off, chomping down on the raccoon the way a grizzly bear feasts on its prey, tearing through bones and ligament. It tasted like dried tree bark with a hint of last week’s trash,  but I couldn’t stop helping myself to more and more. In the end, I devoured the whole raccoon. At this point I realized something: the house wasn’t even mine!

About the Author

Nicholas Sulistio



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