"Five".
A young man leaving a nursing home
gives his ancient grandmother and grandfather
what might be the final hug.
My advice, son, says the grandfather,
finds yourself a woman like this one.
Turning to go, with tears in his eyes,
the young man drops his car keys.
As he picks them up, a bag of Doritos
falls out of his pocket.
The grandmother and grandmother race
in fast motion for the bag of Doritos,
kicking, gouging, and biting each other.
The grandfather finally wins with a hard elbow
to the grandmother's throat, which knocks her unconscious.
Grandpa, what are you doing, the young man says,
it's just a bag of Doritos!
Just a bag of Doritos, says the grandfather.
You speak lies, scum, says the grandmother regaining
consciousness.
Then the grandmother and grandfather nod
to the Doritos bag, which rams into the young man who
falls to the floor, and is kicked repeatedly
by his grandparents.
Grandma, grandpa, please, stop, the young man says.
Hearing herself called grandmother,
grandmother hesitates.
The Doritos bags scowls at her.
The grandfather kicks her in the stomach,
and she falls to the floor.
Who do you think you are, the young man
screams at the Doritos bag.
Do you believe yourself to be some sort of god?
You're a bag of corn chips!
With tons of salt and about nine common coloring agents,
that's it.
That's all you are!
The Doritos bag takes a huge sword
from behind the back of its bag and decapitates the young man.
Now what do you have to say, says the grandmother.
Nothing, says the young man's head.
Do you love Doritos more than anything,
says the bag of Doritos--
which speaks with an accent, do you remember?
The young man's head hesitates.
The Doritos bag cleaves the head in two.
The grandfather, prompted by the bag of Doritos,
kicks one half of the head into the street
where it's run over by a Doritos truck and reduced to mush.
On the other un-mushed half of a head,
one eyebrow goes up in sudden fear.
Care for a Dorito, says the grandfather.
Yes, the remaining half of a head says.
Yes, please, says the grandfather.
Yes, please, says the remaining half a head.
Yes, please, it is sweeter to me than the most profound nectar?
says the grandfather.
Yes, please, it is sweeter to me than the most profound nectar,
says the remaining half a head.
Fat chance, says the grandfather,
you're not good enough for even a tiny fragment of a burrito.
Then he kicks the remaining half a head into the street,
alongside the mush.
And the Doritos truck backs up over the second half of head
reducing it to a second pile of mush.
Do you still believe that Doritos is merely
a bag of corn chips with a ton of salt
and about nine coloring agents?
The grandfather screams into two piles of mush.
The piles of mush are too frightened to answer.
The bag of Doritos and the grandfather and the grandmother
walk off, stepping comically over the two mushes
with exaggeratedly high steps, as if revulsed.
They are escaping from the old folks home,
going to live in the land of Doritos.
Which is not in Mexico exactly, but is very much like Mexico.