John returned home with his girlfriend, Kim, and walked into the kitchen to fix a couple of drinks while she took a seat on the couch. As soon as he opened the refrigerator he was violently assaulted by a concoction of smells the likes of which had never been smelt before.

“Jesus Christ on a cracker!” he yelled, slamming the fridge door shut.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kim, coming in to see what the problem was. “Fuck me sideways! What’s that smell?”

“It’s the food in the fridge. I think it wants to kill me.”

“Sure. The hell do you keep in there?”

“Typical stuff.”

“For how long?”

“That I couldn’t tell you.”

“Is this why you always get things for me instead of letting me get up myself?”

“Maybe.”

“And I thought you were just trying to be a gentleman.”

John scoffed.

“Ass,” Kim said.

“Well, we can’t stay here. Where do you want to go?”

“No, we’re cleaning this thing now.”

“The hell I am. I’m telling you it tried to kill me by stench.”

“Yeah, you’re nuts. If you’re too chicken and don’t want to get your dainty little hands dirty than I’ll do it. But you’re sitting on the floor next to me. I’m not the only one who’s going to be suffering.”

“Fine. I’ll find something for the garbage.”

John found the appropriate odor-shielding trash bags, took a seat on the floor and held his breath as Kim open the refrigerator door.  

“Okay, let’s work our way from the top,” she said.

“So this is going to be a full-on thing, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

The top shelf didn’t need much work. The majority of it consisted of soda bottles, beer and a container of filtered water. And a giant jar of pickles.  

“How long have those pickles been there?” asked Kim.

“Those? I’d say about a week. I eat a lot of them so they don’t stay in there that long.”

“That’s a lot of pickles.”

“You’re a lot of pickles.”

“Your mom’s a lot of pickles.”

“Your mom fucks a lot of pickles.”

“Your grandmother fucks a lot of pickles.”

“Your mom fucks your grandmother with a lot of pickles.”

“You mom and dad watch your grandmother fuck your grandfather with a lot of pickles.”

“Okay, that’s enough, you took it too far,” said John. “My grandfather was a war hero.”

“That’s what makes it so salacious.” 

“Right, well, I’m keeping the pickles.”

“Okay. If you eat them than that’s fine.”

“I do, moving on.”

The next shelf required a much more detailed analysis. Containers of strange foul-smelling brown substances covered the wire rack. More than half were leaking.  

“You’re disgusting.”

“It’s my roommate's stuff.”

“I’ve never seen this guy you randomly mention when I blame shit on you.”

“He doesn’t do much.”

“Whatever. We’re throwing all of these drippy things out. It would probably kill him anyway if he tried to eat it.”

“Wouldn’t make a difference,” said John, under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I said, 'Wouldn’t notice the difference.'”

“Uh huh,” she said with an irritated tone.

“Chuck ‘em. What do I care?”

“Chucked!”

“No! Wait! One of those might be my hummus.”

“Which one?”

“A... light brown one?”

“Look in the garbage. I’m on to the next thing.”

John looked in the bag. Several of the containers had opened and spilled their contents all over the other sealed plastic boxes.

“Well, it’s gone,” said John. “Not rummaging through that mess.”

“You’re probably better off.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Probably shouldn’t have even concerned myself with it. What’s next?”

“Yogurts. The back wall is lined with them. The ‘fun and flirty’ variety.”

Kim looked at John. And then at John’s recently expanding waistline.

“What?” asked John, accusatorially. “I broke my foot.”

“Two years ago, you lazy bastard.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“I know. So what are we doing with these? When did you buy them?”

“Around two years ago. To make up for the...”

“To make up for the lack of exercise? Yeah, I got it. Do you throw anything out?”

“Uh—”

“Never mind. They’re gone. Pudding. Lots of pudding.”

“That’s all recent. Actually, can you hand me one?”

Kim handed one over. John opened it and began spooning it into his mouth with his index and middle fingers.

“Why am I dating you?”

“The sex.”

“Not if you keep this up.”

“You like it.”

“Yes, but I’m never letting those fingers near me again.”

“Prude.”

“Whatever, you’re the one who’s going to be missing out. Garlic?”

“What did you call me?”

Kim sighed and pulled out two handfuls of garlic from the refrigerator.  

“This! Why do you have so many loose cloves?”

“To make sauce?”

“I’ve never seen you cook.”

“I had a life before I met you, you know.”

“That was over three years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re saying these have been in here that long?”

“Probably. Sure didn’t buy them recently.”

Kim gave John a look of severe disappointment as he scrapped out the last of the pudding. She had never once heard tell of his prowess in the kitchen.

“So you think you might want to make a meal for me sometime? I’d say I’m due.”

“Yeah, I guess,” agreed John, half-heartedly.

“Great!” said Kim, throwing the garlic in the trash. “We’ll need to get more. We can get supplies to refill the fridge tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan. Are we done yet?”

Kim lifted the lid of the butter tray and said, “This doesn’t look too safe.”

“What could it do?”

“It’s bright orange!”

“I’m sure I bought it like that.”

“I really don’t think you can buy neon-colored butter.”

“I... made it?”

“Yeah try again.”

John thought a moment and then said, “Science?”

“You failed bio.”

“God?”

“God made your butter orange?”

“Yeah! Yesterday it was red. He does a colors-of-the-rainbow kind of thing. Changes it every day.”

“Or?”

“Or... I’m gross and need to clean out my fridge more often.”

“Yes. Yes you do.”

“Fine. Anything else left in there?”

“Nothing too old by the looks of things. Onto the crisper!”

John swallowed excessively hard.  

“The crisper?” he asked.

“Yeah, where you would keep your veggies, if I thought you had any to begin with.”

“I need to get something from upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

She grabbed the handle and began to pull on the drawer. It was exceptionally heavy.

“No, keep your butt on the ground. We’re almost done. This probably won’t take long. Half of me just wants to take the whole thing and dump the contents in the bag.”

“And the other half?”

“Consider it morbid curiosity.”

“Oh.”

“For Christ’s sake. Relax a little. There’s no way it could be worse than...”

She paused as the severed head came into view.

“The fuck is this?” she asked with a mix of just the right amounts of confusion and disgust.  

“A head?”

“I can see that. Why is it in your crisper?”

John stalled for a moment before answering, “My roommate put it there?”

“Is that a question?”

“Wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You trying to see if I would buy it?”

“Perhaps.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not really.”

“Well, can I at least throw it out?”

John couldn’t believe his luck. She was just going to move on and keep cleaning. He was in the clear. So long as she stayed out of the freezer.

“Now that that unpleasantness is behind us, what say we tackle the freezer while we’re at it?”

“Uh,” said a completely confident and not at all scared shitless John.

Kim looked at him with understanding in her eyes. She scooched over to him, put her arms around him and leaned in close, pressing her head on his forehead.  

She sighed and said, “The rest of the body is up there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“The hell! Now you’re a murderer?”

“Mass,” said John, coming clean in one of the most roundabout ways possible.

Kim looked at him. John could swear he actually saw flames in her eyes.

“I take it you’re not talking about church.”

“Not in the least.”

“That’s just fucking fantastic.”

“There have only been three! And they were all dicks.”

“Oh,” said a somewhat relieved Kim. “That’s not too bad. Thought you were going to say something like twenty or some insanely high number.”

“That would be more impressive though.”

“Not really the best goal to be shooting for there, John.”

“Good point.”

“So where are they?”

“Basement freezer.”

“I didn’t know you had one down there. Does your roommate know? I’d imagine he knows what with the bodies... He’s one of them isn’t he?”

“Yeah, you already found him.”

“That was his head?”

“Yeah, that’s John.”

“Your roommate’s name was John too?”

“Yeah. He kept opening my mail!”

“Understandable.”

“It is?”

“Kinda. Guess we have our own place now.”

“You’re moving in?” 

“Yep, now show me the others.”

John flung open the top of the freezer and waited for the fog to lift.  

“Here you go. Colin and Andrew.”

Kim looked at the bodies for a long time before taking a step back.

“Hun, a thought occurs.”

“Oh?”

“All three of your victims are white males.”

“I... I guess they are. Really hadn’t noti—”

“Racist!” accused Kim.

“But—”

“And sexist!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“I’m not!”

“Prove it!”

“How?”

“Go out there and kill me a non-white woman.”

“What?”

“Black, Mexican, Asian, Indian, whatever! Just as long as she’s not white.”

John tried to wrap his head around the task at hand, but kept coming up with jack shit.

“Listen, it’s simple. Get your gun and just kill the first woman you see who isn’t white. It’s not rocket science. It’s like the farthest thing from it.”

“I like how you consider murder to be the polar opposite of rocket science.”

“Good for you, now on your way.  Your victim’s getting cold... or warm... or something. Move it!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”

He returned several minutes later having successfully completed his mission. Kim hugged him and said how proud she was of him and relieved that he wasn’t a douche bag. Together they sat on the loveseat and made a list of items to pick up from the store tomorrow. John had some cooking to do.