Eyes

A Clean Kitchen is the Sign of a Wasted Life

This image sequence tells a story that has yet to be written. Write one based on the images in the comment box at the bottom of the post. The best story gets a FREE CBK T-shirt. You have two weeks… GO!

By Max Power - max.power@citizenbrooklyn.com

7 Responses to “A Clean Kitchen is the Sign of a Wasted Life”

  1. admin says:

    To win the free T-Shirt register yourself and write the story to the images above as a comment. Thank You

  2. Blake Morose says:

    I’ll take a crack at this…

    There once was a woman who lived to clean and her house was always spotless with everything in its proper place. Her life lacked adventure, whimsy and fun because she was afraid to get dirty or let anything get messy.

    Her anal retentiveness began after a childhood incident when her curious nature led her to poke around the family’s pet hindquarters and sample what she thought was chocolate pudding – she never ate chocolate again. The traumatic experience would develop into a strange relationship with food. She would constantly see news stories about the bacteria on fruits and vegetables so she never ate them.

    The clean freak would go to the supermarket and wonder at the beauty of fruits. She would carefully inspect them with gloved hands but never purchase any. To her, pretty fruits were something to be admired and displayed but never eaten due to their unclean nature.

    Tormented by her dull life and wanting to fill the void developed from a lack a spontaneity and creativity, she began to experiment with the only canvas allowed in her home. A canvas that she could scrub clean everyday – her body. By learning to embrace being messy for a little while each day the woman once obsessed with cleanliness would become an ever changing work of art and go on to become one of the world s most iconic body painters.

  3. James Dilla says:

    I banished the girl to the kitchen. She’d been playing ding dong ditch with neighbor’s dog and dug her fingers into the warm pit of gooey despair. Like picking pickled pears in primitive places with my commie friends, nobody wins. Her dark findings could never stack up to the math equation magic tricks of the Asian girl next door. Now she hides and blends in with whatever surroundings will have her, and digs deep into reruns of Bob Ross.

  4. Karen White says:

    I found out first hand a clean kitchen is definitely a sign of a wasted life. I used to love to cook and made the most exquisite, abundant, elaborate meals for family and friends. But then a curious devil would get ahold of me when the meals were over. Mostly in a foaming at the mouth fury showing the whites of my eyes, I would scrub my kitchen obsessively, blindly throwing out items, then immediately running out the back door to dispose of the trash. Inevitably, later I was desperate to find these objects or food items realizing I really needed them. Never discriminating over WHOSE items these were, if they were in my kitchen for more than a few hours, they were trashed. One day, my daughter was so desperate to find her discarded sippy cup, I found her looking for it in the most unlikely and rather unsavory places. I knew I had reached a new low.

    Had I gone too far? Should I cease giving my kitchen counters a thorough caressing bleaching twice a day? Should I stop rearranging my pantry for sport? Should I end my sensual evening ritual of obsessively and lovingly wiping down food appliances every evening? No. Sorry. Just. No.

    Then one evening, relaxing on the sofa in the glow of a post kitchen cleaning haze, I saw an investigative report on Kim Jong il. The show exposed Mr. Il was hoarding fruits in jars while his people in North Korea starved. Something in me snapped.

    That same evening I fell into a fitful sleep and the ghost of a pineapple I carelessly threw in the trash the day before came to me in a dream. This pineapple was pissed off and in full on warrior mode. It drew out a large machete. Cursing at me and calling me horrible names, it chased me all over the house. With one mighty swipe, the deranged pineapple cut me in two pieces extracting its sweet revenge for being tossed in the trash. After all, it was a perfectly innocent pineapple who just happened to be in the path of my evil soapy sponge.

    When I awoke, I found myself still running from this rampaging pineapple of my dream. In my mind’s eye, the freaky fruit’s scary shadow kept stalking me and no matter where I went when I turned the corner, it was lurking there, machete raised, ready to slice.

    I was desperate. I dyed my hair and started wearing clothing to camouflage myself in my own house. It was the only way I could dodge the crazy pineapple of my mind and worse, I had no time to clean the kitchen as I was in full survival mode. Then something really wild happened.

    Manifesting himself in the form of the ghost of Bob Ross, God paid me a visit and God showed me how to make love to an artist’s canvas instead of my kitchen floor. Soooo much more satisfying. The first thing I painted was the sign at the start of this post and now I can’t stop painting everything, people, mountains, animals and yes, even kitchens.

    P.S. Everyone in my house starved.

  5. Al Hollywood says:

    The only way I ever kept my kitchen clean was by not cooking in it, but, then again, you can only eat so much Papaya Dog before your pockets wear thin. And it didn’t stop at cooking. Next thing I knew, I’m bangin’ girls on the sink while they admire their reflections in the night blackened window, scaring mice outta the oven and shakin’ roaches from the ceiling.
    The result being my little daughter and her little dog who also shared some fond moments in that same kitchen. Only problem was the picky wife, who insisted I shop at organic Asian markets. Our shared income kept us afloat until the day she brought home a very rare, very expensive “Pina Negra”, infamously known in the states as… “The Black Pineapple”.
    I’m not a violent man, but I had a daughter to raise, so I had a word with my wife, I really cut her down to size. Unfortunately, the incident scarred my little girl for life. Not a very popular child, she became something of a wallflower.
    The whole experience taught me to stay away from women. Yup, these days I dirty my kitchen with another kind of love…

  6. Jose Doroteo says:

    A keen man once said, “A clean kitchen is the sign of a wasted life.”

    So transcendent, he once revived a canine with the mere contact of his index finger.

    While in the Air Force he introduced the sweet nectar of liberty to a totalitarian nation with a single stroke.

    A lover once said he took her to the summit of carnal satisfaction with simply a pineapple and half her body, you do the math.

    Cognoscente in “wet on wet” technique he delineated the stark supple body of his Prussian master’s daughter, not that he desired so, but for her pleasure.

    One might wonder who such a man could be.

    His name was Robert Norman Ross.

  7. RogueApe says:

    There’s a germ-a-phobe with a dark side who wakes up screaming from nightmares about touching unwashed places and sending jars filled with spiced apples to a deeply mysterious world leader who doesn’t speak English. The frightened germ-a-phobe lies awake after midnight, gazing up at the lamp he’s left on, only to realize that he’s falling deeply in love with the exotic silhouette of the pineapple he purchased from the unswept bodega on his way home. This triggers a dream, yes a dream he once had, where a crazy party girl didn’t know that her top was supposed to be connected to her bottom when she ordered a martini with two olives at a smoky downtown club. But the bar was crowded and reeked of tobacco smoke and she had to wait too long for her drink so she slowly, very slowly, dissolved into the background, like a feral animal disappearing into the depths of the dark, fertile jungle. The germ-a-phobe is startled awake by his shrieking monkey alarm at 6 a.m. He has to scrub his apartment before he ventures out into the filthy world. And when he’s finished he always touches his pure, white canvas in the living room. A ritual he’s had for a decade, a ritual that reminds him that every day starts with a clean kitchen and a promise.