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Steve woke up to the sun shining brightly through the window next to his purple bed. It was going to be a great day. Blue jumped onto the bed and greeted him.
“Bow bow ba-bow bow bow!”
“Good morning to you too, Blue!” Steve screamed.
Blue jumped off the bed and bounded over towards the kitchen.
Steve sat up in bed in his jammies and gave a stretch. It was odd; they hadn’t played Blue’s Clues in nearly three days now, and he was beginning to feel a bit of a dry spell. He was used to playing this dog’s wily game every day now, and yet she’d left such a gap recently. Why could that be?
Not wanting to dwell on those thoughts, Steve rolled out of bed and into his eternal green striped shirt and khaki pants. They practically snapped into place on him, and Steve gave a pleasurable sigh as he felt their warmth. No other clothes in this world felt like these beautiful things; they were warm, comfy, cradling, luxurious.
As Steve finally finished putting on his shoes, he heard a sound echoing from the kitchen on the other side of the house.
“Red!” shouted one voice.
“Blue!” shouted another.
“Wow… it sounds like there’s some sort of dispute going on,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t we go take a look?”
And so Steve began his leisurely, bumbling walk across the lengthy house in which he lived, passing by the Thinking Chair and Sidetable Drawer until he at least reached their spacious kitchen.
When he reached the kitchen, he saw something he never would’ve expected.
“Mr. Salt? Mrs. Pepper? Is everything okay here?” Steve asked as he approached the smooth countertops in the kitchen.
But everything was not okay there. There were smears of white across the counter, like little granules of some substance. Steve bent forward and ran his tongue across the entirety of the counter, and gave a shudder at what he tasted.
“That tastes like… tastes like…” Steve faltered. He turned to face forward. “What is this taste? It tastes like something… something you’d encounter on popcorn? Or maybe on a slab of meat?”
“Salt!” shouted a random disembodied voice.
“Salt?” Steve repeated. “Oh, salt! You’re right! Because salt tastes salty!”
“Ba-bow bow bow ba-bow bow bow!” Blue agreed with him.
“That’s right Blue!” he said to her. “But wait a second… If Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper were just shouting, and I just tasted salt on my tongue… what does that mean?”
Steve furrowed his brow, then faced forward once more with a perplexed look on his face.
“Mr. Salt’s gotten a beatdown!” said that disembodied voice again.
Steve took a step forward. “You said Mr. Salt’s been beaten down? But… how? Who would do that to Mr. Salt?” he questioned.
Before Steve could answer his own question, Blue hopped off towards the kitchen cabinets, as if she wanted to further investigate the area.
“Good idea, Blue! We’ll talk to the folks in our kitchen cabinets to see if they have any idea what could’ve happened to Mr. Salt!”
And so Steve followed Blue through the kitchen, pausing at the first kitchen cabinet he stumbled upon. He grabbed the cabinet handle and opened it.
“Yo, what the FUCK?” a voice bellowed.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Steve said to the voice.
Inside the cabinet was a loaf of bread, only it was bare. It’d temporarily removed its crust to bathe for the day, leaving its supple bread body exposed for all to see.
“You’d better be sorry, asshole,” the bread shot back at him.
Steve quickly closed the cabinet to give the bread some privacy.
“Bow bow ba-bow bow,” Blue remarked, almost laughing.
“Yeah, thanks a lot for that, Blue. You could’ve warned me,” Steve complained to her.
But a second later they moved on to the next cabinet, hopeful that this one would contain some helpful info about Mr. Salt and his leavings across the countertops.
“Hello! Is anyone there?” Steve called as he opened the second cabinet.
Just a few seconds later, Peanut Butter stepped forward. She looked curious, but also confident in her movements.
“Hi, Peanut Butter!” Steve said to her.
“Hi, Steve. What’s going on? I heard some commotion out here.”
“Well, it sounded like something was going on between Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper, and when I licked the yummy counter, I only tasted Mr. Salt. So I was wondering if something may’ve happened between them.”
Peanut Butter seemed to frown for a moment, then leaned forward as if to speak more discreetly.
“Listen, Steve. I don’t know what all goes on between Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper, but I can tell you one thing. They’re dealing, and it’s really starting to get to them.”
Steve didn’t know how to respond to that. “You mean dealing kindness, Peanut Butter? Or maybe food?” he questioned.
Peanut Butter shook her head. “It’s something much more nefarious, Steve. I know Mr. Salt recently traveled, and he came back with a couple crates of some fresh white stuff. I heard him say that he wants to sell it to his friends.”
“Interesting…” Steve pondered. “But earlier, I heard these vague shouts of ‘red’ and ‘blue’ from the other side of the house. What was that?”
“It was probably the two of them arguing over who they should cater to. Mr. Salt’s been saying that they should go for the reds - the group of dudes who’ve taken over the fridge recently, and are talking about conquering the freezer.”
“Uh-huh…” Steve said, trying to follow. “What about ‘blue’, then?”
“Well, the blues are probably the canned foods who’ve been living in the cabinets with me for awhile,” Peanut Butter explained. “They’re a good bunch, and they strongly support Mrs. Pepper. But they’re worried that Mr. Salt is going to do them dirty.”
Steve squinted, trying to understand everything that Peanut Butter had just said to him. Mr. Salt was trying to sell his white stuff to one side, while Mrs. Pepper was going for the others, the ones who’d settled much more long-term in the cabinets.
After a few moments of silence, Steve turned to face forward once more.
“Well, what do you think? Should we try to defeat Mrs. Pepper’s cabinet minions and support the eager, ready-to-fight fridge dudes? Or should we stamp out Mr. Salt, and kill those fridge minions?”
“Let’s murder Mr. Salt!” the disembodied voice exclaimed. It was louder than ever, and Steve could hear the enthusiasm that it held.
“Okay, great! We’ll kill Mr. Salt and his fridge minions to restore order to our kitchen! That’ll make things easier for Mrs. Pepper, and she won’t have to deal with the brutal demands of this war anymore!”
“Yes!” the disembodied voice shouted.
Steve nodded in agreement with whatever that voice was, and he pulled a thick metal club from his pocket as he moved forward to confront Mr. Salt.