There was a resounding bang. It was the Perciatelli representative. She had knocked over the can of cheese that the cook had forgotten to put away. She looked around sheepishly, but the others had gone back to their loud and sometimes, violent, arguments. It was an eclectic bunch that had assembled this year. Some old, some new, some borrowed and some blue. The old ones, like the bearded Trachana, disapproved of the younger ones like the Scooby Do. They were, according to him, unnecessary. But unfortunately for him, the Cavatappi had been almost wiped out by the youngsters. The Scooby Dos were represented by the scruffiest person that the old Trachana had ever seen. His naturally occuring curves accentuated by the weird dyes he wore and where ever he went, he took along with him a most unpleasant Ketchup smell. Ketchup! Hah. The Ziti and their cousins the Zitoni had sent a common representative - an unpleasant and loud mouthed girl. She was stridently arguing with the Manicotti rep.
He was saying, "I really wish they would make slurping illegal. It is such an undignified way to go. We should form a lobby against slurping; if we have to die to feed these people, we should atleast have a humane death."
She snorted. "One, you are not human. Two, who will you lobby? It's not as if we have seats in the human government. And three, humans don't give a shit. You are a pasta, man. Flour, butter and egg. You really think they are going to worry about how they eat you?".
"You are really most unpleasant. I was just making conversation." said the plump, flustered man.
SHe said, "Get stuffed." and giggled. "Wait. You'd probably like that!".
"Insufferable".
"Ignore her, my good Manicotti. Tell me, who do you think will be elected the Pasta Boss this year?". This was the young and powerful Penne representative. Manicotti thought that he was really too young to be representing the Penne, the Mezze Penne, the Penne rigate, the Penne Zita, the Pennette, and the Pennoni families, who traditionally sent only one common representative. But that was the problem with the popular families; there were no old ones left. And the families that did have old ones left, didn't have the clout any more, to affect changes. It was very sad. While all these thoughts were flashing though old Manicotti's mind along with extreme displeasure at the sight of his old rivals, the Vermicelli and the Spaztle, ("Damn those worms!") at a speed considerably less than that of light, even very slow light, the Penne representative had moved away. He was now talking up a storm with the Mafalde and the Mafaldine, an unlikely alliance - one short and rectangular and the other long and ruffled and with tempraments to match.
Manicotti looked around. It was almost time for the voting to begin. Last year, the Farfalline had won the vote with the huge margin, mostly because of their sudden popularity with salad chefs. They were still very popular, so maybe it was a good thing that the Great Pasta Comprehensive Rule Book of Many Complicated Rules (commonly know as the Good Book) said that a family could not have a representative made Boss 2 years continuously. This, many felt, was a good rule. Mainly beacause overbearing and hideously rich Lasagne family would have been dicatators otherwise. There was no place for dictators in Pasta World.
Ah! More annoying youngsters. Alphabets! Alphabets? MAnicotti was enraged. In his day, Pasta cane as ribbons, shells, or noodles. Bowties were bad enough, but alphabets?! Disgraceful! And those colours? Ridiculous. What is wrong with cream? The world, if Manicotti had designed it, would have only cream. Maybe a little olive green. None of that ridiculous red and purple. What did they think they are? Breakfast cereal? Nincompoops.
The horn was sounded. Everybody gathered around to hear the candidates speak before the voting began. The Orzo candidate got onto the stage. It was embarrassing to watch him struggle up that high platform. He could hardly be seen over the crowd and Manicotti didn't even know when he had started to speak. He was looking at the Canelloni representative. They had sent the same man for the past four years. The Canelloni were unique in the Pasta World as they were the only ones who had never sent a candidate for election. They would always come, obediently, every year. Not say a thing, vote and leave. This year, their representative was fast asleep in the last row. His stout body looked even stouter, bunched up like that in his chair. The Orzo had finished sometime ago and the Anelli girl was talking now, something about unions and better work environment. WHat ideas children get these days. You are made, you live in a box, you die. When will they realise that whatever they do, they are going to die in a pot of boiling water some day, in the company of dead fish, cows, goats, or depending on where you are, even dogs. Unions. Hah!
They just kept talking. And Manicotti tried to listen to all of them. He really did. He remembered when he was younger and not so yellow, how he used to be interested in these things. Now he just felt responsible and tired. But his over worked civic sense never let him sleep during these meetings. And he always gave a lot of thought to his vote. You never know, someday it might mean something. What and when was anybody guess.
There were too many candidates this time. All the young ones were clamouring for a chance to speak. Fools. It was almost time to go. Ah. Finally. Voting time. They used a show of hands to decide who was to be the next Boss. First Orzo. Too insignificant. 3 votes. Then Anelli. Too radical. 5 votes. And it went on and on. Something was wrong. Nobody was getting a majority. This was bad. Penne jumped at Tagliatelle and punched him. Oh no. It was turning to something humans might do. Wait wait. WHo is that? It was fat old Pici. Bloody philosopher.
"All of you disqualified yourself from ever being good politicians just by wanting to be one."
"What the hell do you mean?", yelled Spaghetti, perpetually annoyed.
"You want power, you want recognition, you want to be famous. That is why you all stood for election. If you had wanted to make things better for any of us, you would have tried to do something before coming here. But did you? Did you?", Pici yelled, growing more and more animated as the crowed quieted down. "Pop psychology", muttered the young Penne, who apparently knew all about it. But the crowd just lapped it up. Pici was on a roll. "Whom amongst us has never wanted recognition? Who has never stood for election? Who has never been guilty of craving attention?" The crowd looked at each other. Many of the shrugged. Most of them looked lost. Pici was running out of steam when Macaroni yelled, "Canelloni!". The whispers ran hard and fast. Soon the loud whispers turned into shouts, yells and a lot of finger pointing.
Stretching and yawning, the Canelloni chose this moment to wake up. He found himself suddenly on the shoulders of the more exuberant youngsters and they were all yelling, "Canelloni for President!", "God Save The Boss!" and "I'm hungry". The last one was a baby Garganelli which had snuck in when everybody was too busy arguing to guard the door. No one paid any attention to him.
The Canelloni representative had no idea what was happening to him or why and more importantly, how was he going to explain to the others of his family? He was so dead when he got home. Sigh, at least he had had some sleep. It was getting so difficult sleeping at home. The children were getting into that troublesome age where you couldn't stuff them into a box and know that they'll be there and fine in the morning.
One of the youngsters had started up a silly chant. "Canelloni! (Thud Thud Thud) Is Dude! (Thud Thud Thud) Canellon....". "Fool", shouted another. "Canelloni is a noodle! Not a dude! Don't let the elders hear you. You know how much they hate it when we use human slang!".
"Sheesh. OK." "Canelloni, The Greatest Noodle (Thud Thud Thud) Canelloni The Noodlest Great....", and so it went on. He was drunk on pasta sauce.
The next morning, the children of the house were grounded for a month for making a mess of the kitchen. Though they never found out how they children had made a mess of this kitchen when they were in their grandparents' house on the other side of town. Some how, the box of Canelloni was on top of the other boxes of pasta and the cheese was on the floor.
LIst of Pasta
edit:
The next morning, the children of the house were grounded for a month and they had to clean up. They did so, all the while protesting their innocence. Their mother yelled at them some more for lying. What did they think happened? Did the cereals jump of the boxes themselves?
She wasn't as well acquianted with her kitchen as she thought.
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