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Opening a wildly corroded can of Spider-Man Pasta from 1995: a thread. (1/5)
I put the can opener to work, unsettled by the rust, but emboldened by the lack of noxious fumes. I turn the knob and wince, unable to rule out the possibility that the contents have mutated into something alive & malevolent. (2/5)
They say tragedy plus time equals comedy, but there's nothing funny about 15 ounces of Spider-Man Pasta reduced to a rotted 3-ounce chunk. Recalling the fate of Jordy Verrill in Creepshow, I'm thankful for my rubber gloves. (3/5)
I carefully remove the mass, which looks like a cross between Big Thunder Mountain and one of those Geonosian hives from Attack of the Clones. (4/5)
I think I notice something, but consult the label on the can to be sure. Indeed, there's poor Spider-Man, trapped in this godforsaken toxic monstrosity. I'm sorry, Peter. With old pasta comes great instability.
Thank you all for taking this journey with me. (5/5)
Thank you all for taking this journey with me. (5/5)
