"By the time I get back, I want this fridge cleaned up," Cracked Editor Jack O'Brien had told us. Filthy disgusting fridges had been in the news lately, and he felt that there was some comedic potential to be had in the cleaning of ours. And if it minimized the population of horseflies that had recently appeared in our staff kitchen, all the better. I and the rest of the columnists stood in a loose semi-circle around the fridge, looking at it suspiciously. "As the funniest person here, I don't think I should have to do this," Swaim said. "You're not the funniest person here, Swaim," I replied. "I call second funniest," Gladstone said. "Third," parroted Brockway. DOB: "Fourth!" Seanbaby looked at me, not blinking. I sighed. "Sixth," I finally said. I took a breath and manned up momentarily. Reaching out I opened the fridge door and regretted it immediately. Waves of evil swept over me. This was going to be hell. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. "This doesn't have to be a chore," I replied. "What if we use our imaginations to make it into an adventure?" "You're not thinking..." Gladstone said. "That's right. We straight-up Muppet Baby this!" Everyone's eyes lit up. Together we bent down and peered into the fridge. __

__ We were in a damp, blueish-gray cave. Splashes of white plastic on the floor here or there indicated it was a mold covered fridge of cavernous proportions. Above us, light from a single incandescent bulb trickled down. "This is gross. It's like some kind of alien vagina," said Swaim. "This is nothing like an alien vagina," said Seanbaby, eyes scanning the blueish-gray mass. No one wanted to argue the point, so we moved on into the fridge. We soon came upon some leftovers from a party, including a half-eaten cake and an enormous plate of moldy appetizers, the remnants of some happy occasion marked by management purchasing cocktail wieners for us. Gladstone walked over to the plate and pulled a little cocktail sword out of one of the wieners. Following his lead, we armed ourselves similarly, then spent the next five minutes pretending we were pirates. Brockway frowned, looking at his blade. "These things aren't very sharp. I don't know if these will work for cutting mold away." He tested it out by poking at a lump of growth clinging to the ground. In a flash, the fungus snapped forward, latching on to Brockway's arm. "Help!" he cried unimaginatively. Our eyes boggled as we struggled to understand what we were seeing. Brockway repeated his earlier request. "I guess we should help him?" I thought aloud, looking for feedback. "It's too late! Kill him!" DOB shrieked, setting upon Brockway with his cocktail sword. "Stop! Stop it!" Brockway cried. "Stop stabbing my ass!" he screamed, thrashing wildly at Swaim who indeed, had crossed the floor and was furiously stabbing his ass. Gladstone looked at me and shrugged, before walking cautiously over to the trio. He gingerly poked his sword into Brockway's thigh, eliciting a shrill response. I stroked my chin, thinking. Stabbing Brockway felt like the right thing to do. It felt so right. But I was missing something. Behind me Seanbaby crossed over to the remains of the birthday cake. I watched curiously, as he plucked a candle from its decayed form. Reaching into his pocket he produced a Zippo lighter, and with a practiced flick set the candle ablaze. Wielding it like a girthy, blazing penis, he charged at the mass of mold and bleeding columnists, where he repeatedly jabbed it into the grayish-green mold that had seized Brockway by the arm. A blood curdling shriek filled the air, as the mold smoked and burnt. It released Brockway's arm, who collapsed back in a heap with his assailants. A limb of the mold hissed and snapped at Seanbaby, who ducked it, continuing his fiery-dong assault. Another shriek, this time from deeper in the fridge. The moldy mass slumped to the ground, and began to shrink back into the depths with a horrifying slurping sound. All around us the mold on the floor and walls began to retreat. Unaware of our complete and unexpected victory, DOB, Swaim and Gladstone continued their tussle with Brockway. "Get off me," Brockway growled, planting a foot in DOB's crotch and kicking him back. A hilarious noise escaped DOB's lips as he tumbled backwards. "Guys, cool it. It's over," I said, reaching in and yanking Swaim back by his collar before he could stab Brockway in the ass again. "Are you licking my ear?" Brockway yelled at Gladstone, who had dropped his sword in the melee, and was in fact licking Brockway's ear. Brockway rolled to the side and regained his feet. Gladstone looked up at us, blinking his eyes several times. "That was weird," he said. "It's like the mold spores took hold of my mind or something."