One time I heard about this one wizard named Voracius, who woke up extra hungry one morning. He went down to the kitchen, but the only thing in his refrigerator was a bowl of pickles and he hated pickles.
“Curse you pickles!” he cried, as he threw the bowl on the floor and stormed into the solarium. Then he had a bright idea. He cast a spell on himself so he could digest anything he wanted. He went back into his kitchen, kicked the pickles across the floor, and ate the broken glass bowl instead.
“Mmmmm, this is delicious!” he thought. He liked it so much, he started eating all the dishes in the kitchen, even the dirty ones in the sink. “And now, my beauty, I will have you for dessert!” he said and ate the sink as well. He proceeded to eat everything in the kitchen, including his stove, his refrigerator, and his little cat Margo who was taking a nap on top of it at the time.
The more he ate, the bigger he got, and soon he had eaten his entire house. He was still hungry though, so he ate both houses on either side of his, and then started on the rest of the neighborhood. The army showed up to stop him, but he just ate their guns and bullets and rode their tank into the city like a skateboard.
He lived right outside of Milwaukee, so when he got into town, the first thing he did was drink up all the distilleries to wash down all the houses and stuff he’d had. Boy, let me tell you, being drunk did NOT help things. He started gobbling up buildings and trains and cars like they were Doritos, only they tasted even better. He also tried calling his ex a few times, but he was too gigantic and drunk to use any of the phones he found.
Meanwhile, everyone was pretty much freaking out. Luckily, this one detective was like, “Chill everybody. Let’s try to figure this out logically.”
Like a good detective, she went straight to the scene of the crime. I mean, there were a bunch of crimes at this point, but she went to where the first one was. When she got there, everything in the neighborhood was gone except for these four pickles laying on the ground where Voracius’ house used to be. “Hmmm…” she said, real thoughtful like.
“What is it?” asked her partner.
“No time to explain,” explained the detective. “Just call all the pickle companies in Milwaukee, and tell them to meet us at the old catapult factory on the edge of town, and pray this perp hasn’t gotten that far yet.”
“Which one should I do first?” asked her partner.
“The calling,” said the detective. “You can pray on the way there.”
The partner got done praying right as they arrived at the old catapult factory, which was the oldest factory in Milwaukee except for that one that made spaghetti.
All the owners of all the pickle companies in Milwaukee were there with all their pickles in big trucks. They were all smoking big cigars and pulling on their suspenders going, “Blub, blub, blub, what’s the meaning of all this poppycock?” and stuff like that, but the detective wasn’t having it.
“Stop blubbing and load those pickles into the old catapults,” she barked, “and let’s pray they still work.”
All the owners got down on their knees, but then the detective said it was just an expression, and they should load the catapults instead. She thought about adding something about how god was actually indifferent to human suffering but decided they didn’t have time.
It’s actually a really good thing she decided that, because right as they loaded the last pickle, you-know-who came around the corner, hungrier and bigger than ever!
“My, my, my!” chortled Voracius. “An old brick building full of catapults. Just what I need to wash down that school full of disabled nuns!”
He opened his mouth super wide to try and eat the factory in one gulp, but then the detective yelled “FIRE!” and the owners of the pickle companies fired all the pickles in Milwaukee into his mouth at the same time.
“PICKLES!” screamed Voracius. “I HATE PICKLES! BLAAAAAH BLAAAAAAAAH!”
Then, the most wonderful but disgusting thing happened. He started vomiting up all of Milwaukee. He threw up the pickles, and the disabled nuns, and the breweries. He threw up all the houses and army men, and all his dishes. He even threw up little Margo, who just licked herself a little and wandered off like nothing happened.
As he threw up, he shrank down and down until he was back to his normal size, which to be honest, was on the small side.
“Quick!” yelled the detective. “Before he starts eating again!”
Then the rest of the police wheeled out the prototype giant catapult that had been sitting in the basement factory for 100 years. It was so powerful that it was outlawed before it ever got used and was the reason the factory got shut down in the first place. Now though, the police decided they could break the law and use it, which is pretty typical to be honest with you.
“Enjoy eating the moon you freak!” said the detective, as she grabbed Voracius and tossed him into the giant cup.
“Wait!” screamed Voracius. “Can I at least have a glass of milk first?”
“Nope, sorry,” said the detective, as she pulled the lever that sent him hurtling into space.
He actually did try and take a bite out of the moon on his way past it, but he was moving too quickly.
Now, he just floats through space eating any passing comets or asteroids he finds. In fact, at this point, he’s way bigger than he ever was on earth and is almost big enough to start eating planets. So, if you ever wanted to know how the universe is going to end, there you go.