Madhouse on Aisle 12
by Kris Dikeman
I reach for a package of chocolate chip cookies.
"Partially hydrogenated oils," the cookies say. "Palm oil, even. Be quicker if you just stabbed yourself in the heart. Also, we've been sitting here for... gotta be eight months."
I throw the package in my cart and move on to the dairy aisle, grabbing a gallon of two-percent.
"Aren't you a little old for this?" the milk asks. "You really don't have the enzymes anymore. And anyway, you can see I'm in plastic. All those deadly PVC's leeching in. Although... maybe the Bovine Growth Hormone will cancel those out."
I put the gallon back, and reach for the carton of chocolate soymilk.
"I'm not really milk," it whispers, sounding embarrassed. "I'm juice. But who would drink chocolate juice? It even sounds gross to me."
"Nice tits," the chicken breasts leer, as I lean over the meat case. At least I know they're fresh.
"How are you feeling?" the wings ask. "Got a cold or the flu? 'Cause I'm stuffed with antibiotics. Good for what ails ya."
As I move on the ground turkey mutters a warning, "Watch out for the beef. It's mad, totally bonkers."
"We're not mad!" The hamburgers all shout in unison. "Why, we're not even beef!"