Perniquism’s Grill

By Doug Fergus — February 25, 2015
Poernilp Perniquism owned a small coffee shop on Rednammoc Ave in Nomericemick City. His wife Yazznip was the head waitress. His two daughters Roagun and Wabint were also employed there in various capacities. Besides doing the books Poernilp was also the cook. He had grown a small potbelly from tasting his creations over the three years that the restaurant had been in operation. He loved to cook. He was as happy standing behind the grill as a pig standing in mud or a little boy eating his own buggers or Blindex Quixtoy bending over at the waist to smell his own armpits.
Yazznip and the girls had remained slim from humping plates of food each day. Yazznip looked very good for a woman of her age. Poernilp had fallen in love with Yazznip and her dazzling figure when she was just a cute 18-year-old. She still had the same shape 35-20-18.
Nearly very morning local construction workers would descend on the eatery for breakfast. They would compete for the attention of Roagun and Wabint by making various animal sounds using utensils, napkins and salt shakers, The loudest and most recalcitrant of all was Snerp Zootmilton who would yell out, “Hey Roagie, get a load of these apples…EEEEP, EEEEEEP, Ssigen, ssigen…ZOODN, ZOODN, AHP-AHP-AHP, CORRRRTORDLE! Pre good, huh? Pre good?”
Roagun had come to realize that the only way to calm Snerp down was to try to guess the animal he was currently imitating and often even impersonating.
“Het Snerp, I’ll bet that was a rabbit-toed frog hawk, right?” she would smile.
“Wrong again Roagie,” Snerp squealed with delight. “That was my ’63 Corvair right before the engine ate it comin’ up Floochiman’s Grade!”
Poernilp constantly scanned the dining room, peering out behind the stainless steel counter top and the heats lamps. He watched primarily to make sure none of his rowdy customers got physical with Roagun and Wabint. If any of the boisterous bolides so much as brushed one of his daughters, Poernilp would shout from the kitchen, “Hey Hey Hey! You wanna squeeze tissue go to the supermarket!”
During these explosions Poernilp would spay saliva all over the hot grill in front of him. It would land in tiny beads, dance for a moment on the hot metal then soak into the grilled cheese or the fried eggs, or whatever was cooking at the time. Poernilp would then say to himself, “What the hell. I’m healthy. I take vitamins. I take care of myself. It’s good, nutritious spit….probably do some of these malnourished bums some good.”

Sugar, nutmeg, honey, darling molasses
You make me feel like a million lemon cookies
baking in a 10,000-degree oven.

Cake, pie, maple syrup, paprika, doughnut holes.
When you touch me, I feel like strawberries
are surging through my veins.

Banana pudding, oregano, sugar substitute, vanilla extract
You are such a sweet thing
I bet your heart is filled to the brim with whipped cream.
– from The Song of Poernilp