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The year was 1943, and the world was wrapped up in this great big war. Couldn’t tell ya which war it was or nothin’, but it surely did send folks uppity and rooted. American men were sent fighting off to Europe and Asia, leaving their blushing brides and fair maidens behind.
Now, one of them fair maidens was Miss Shirley Cohen. Well, to call her a fair maiden may be a stretch, for she was a gal who knew her way around a kitchen but also the baseball field. She could whip up a mean meatloaf but could also batter up so hard that'd your grandpa would cry. She could fry bacon so crispy it'd snap like a soldier's salute, meanwhile keeping count of scores from all leagues of the All American Girls Baseball. Yes madame, that Shirley Cohen was a real hoot!
But there was something about Shirley that couldn’t be shaken. You see, despite the interesting character choice and all, Shirley was… how to say this?
She was a fucking sher-shaken.
This isn’t to rip on those with anxiety or none. I feel ya’ll. But Shirley had some deep-rooted anxieties that extended beyond her field play. There were rooms that lacked humidifiers, for one. Potentially asbestos riddled buildings, for another. Also, the fear of ‘catching the gay.’ Because that’s totally possible (It’s not). And, of course, the Axis Powers. This was 1943, after all.
But there was one thing she feared more than the Axis Powers themselves —canned food.
You see, in those days, folks were deathly afraid of the botulism. Every can on the shelf was like a ticking time bomb, and not the kind you find in the trenches of Eastern France. No, these were like ships in a harbour. You know, the kind just sitting idly, waiting to unleash deadly cargo. That Shirley Cohen swore she'd never touch them canned bits and bobs!
That all changed one rainy summer’s evening. Shirley’s roommate, the dame Carson Shaw, had given Shirley quite the earful after Shirley came at her about catching the gay and all. Well, Carson did what any good folk in their right mind would in turn – they told Shirley to get a dang hold of themselves and, frankly, to stop being a fuckin’ pussy little bitch.
Well, Shirley found herself stranded in their room with nothin’ except a can of mushrooms. Her usual market had run out of fresh ones, and desperate times called for desperate measures. She had given thought to what Mrs Shaw had to say for herself, and Shirley thought, ‘You know what? Shaw’s right. It’s time I grow the fuck up.”
In the safety of her room, and with Carson out with, most likely, Greta, she stared at the can, her heart pounding like a drummer in a swing band. Her mind raced with tales of poison and peril, but her stomach growled louder than a roaring '40s jukebox.
"Well, Shirley, it's you or nothing." She muttered to herself.
With trembling hands, she grabbed a can opener and made her move. The lid popped open with a hiss, and Shirley held her breath, expecting the worst.
But as she peered inside, she found simply plump, golden mushrooms. Glistening like pearls in a moll's necklace. They smelled like heaven in a tin can, and boy, did they make Shirley’s ovaries explode!
With cautious courage, Shirley plucked a champignon mushroom from the can and took a tiny nibble. Her taste buds did a jitterbug of joy. These mushrooms were no ordinary canned goods; they were a symphony of flavour, a culinary masterpiece. It was as if a French chef had packed his passion into that can. Which would have been just dandy, were there not a war and all, and French cuisine being… Well. Look, it was the 1940’s. We don’t need to dwell over what happened to the French during this time. Back to the plot!
Shirley's heart did a flip-flop, and it wasn't just from the botulism scare –
“Shirley?” It was Carson’s voice behind her! Shirley had been so engrossed in savouring the magic of these itty bitty muttie-rooms, she hadn’t heard that Mrs Shaw come into their room! Shirley spun around, fork in mouth and can in hand.
Carson jumped back in surprise. “Shirley? You’re… you’re eating canned food?”
Shirley nodded, wide eyed. A hint of inspiration shook her from her head to her piggily wiggilies. Why, if canned food could be so dang delicious… why couldn’t the taste of another woman’s lips be?
Carson opened her mouth, ready to call our Shirl’s out, no doubt, of her own hypocrisy, but Shirley cut her off with a smack of her chili peppered lips. Now, Shirley’s snogged other’s before – men, namely, and actually, it was only one man named Eugene in Senior Year, but she had half expected that when her lips met Carson’s that it’d be like a couple of fireworks goin' off in the night sky.
Well, how disappointing it was that it likened more to macking on with a limp noodle.
Carson stepped back, mouth agape so wide, it reminded Shirley of the clown heads at a county fair. “Err – Shirley?”
Shirley grinned from ear to ear. “It’s fine – I’m fine!”
Carson’s face twisted, perplexed. “Shirley…? What’s going on?”
“It’s not contagious!” Shirley jumped! She would have brought her hands together to clap also, were it not for the precious mushrooms. “I’m not gay! I felt nothing!”
Carson blinked. “Well, yeah – it’s not contagious, you know?”
“AND!” Shirley continued. “I don’t feel sick! Why, I never knew how good canned food could be!”
Carson’s eyes glanced between Shirley and the phone mount. Shirley could see Carson was considering phoning the white coats, but she assured Carson, “It’s okay!”
Carson gritted her teeth. “Okay… I’m going to leave now…”
“Great!” Shirley said! Gosh, Carson couldn’t leave soon enough in her mind. The sooner she was out the door, the sooner she could go back to eating them canned mushrooms.
Carson hesitated until Shirley assured her that she was as dandy as a zoot suit at a formal soirée. Carson left, and at last, Shirley was alone again with her boon of shroom. Why, just looking at that can made her heart melt faster than a hot cup of joe on a chilly morning. Not that Shirley drank coffee – that gave her the jitterbugs. Perhaps a story for another time!
Now, Shirley was in a real conundrum as she scoffed not one, nor two, but 6 more mini champignons. There was something about them in her belly that made her heart swoon. She sat with the feeling for sometime as she allowed the remnants of them delicious mushrooms to savour on her tongue. Then it finally clicked to her – after all these years.
Shirley Cohen had fallen in love. Not with a soldier or a sailor, but with a can of mushrooms.
“All this time, I thought love was a sacred act between a man and a woman…” She whispered before planting a kiss on the tinned can. A soft and sweet kiss at first, like a slow jazz number. But then the tempo picked up, and it was like a fast and furious tango. Her tongue danced with the perforated lid and paper label like a pro on a ballroom floor, and the world around her just faded away.
Shirley then peered inside her lover, half expected to find a pair of longing eyes gazing back at her. What she found instead was a couple of damp, champignon mushrooms. Shirley wasn’t bothered, but. Her eyes crossed as she gently shook the can, watching as the mushrooms slowly edged themselves toward her. Shirley parted her lips like a pair of lovers farewelling one another before sailing to war, ready to accept the magical moist mushies merrily in her mouth!
She had the can high with those dandy fungi, each plumper than the last. With the grace of a ballot dancer, she reached into the can with her tingling tongue. She took one chubby champignon and gave it a chow, like a cha-cha partner in a Chang’I can-cow. She took a nibble, and her taste buds did a tap dance of delight. Them magic mushrooms were like a merry-go-round of flavours in her mouth, each munch a munchin’ more merrily miraculous than moments amentioned.
Shirl’s couldn't help but let out a giggle that could've made a peach blush. Shirley sure shook the shores of the Chicago she-shack with such scandalous show. With each mouthful, her eyes sparkled brighter than a marquee in Times Square. Those champignon mushrooms were her ticket to gastronomic glory, and she savoured 'em like a Hollywood star savourin' the spotlight.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. By the time she polished off the can, Shirley Cohen had become the champignon champion of the Chicago chows. She collapsed onto her bed, a satisfied grin on her face, her innards and entrails erupted in epilogue. Them mushrooms were just marvellous, and made the night as unforgettable as a classic black-and-white movie, which they were back then anyhow, but let’s not get all meta moochin’ now, mhm?
“Them mushies of room.” Shirley thought. “There will always be much room in my heart. Why, the next can I get a hold of, I’ma sautée them, stuff them, and even put them in my omelettes.”
…
Shirley quickly became the talk of the Rockford Peaches. Not for her ball play – but for her untimely death. For it seemed, for all her love of them mushroom, there seemed too much room also for clostridium botulinum bacteria to blow and bite. That Shirley Cohen conquered her fear of canned food and found true love in the unlikeliest of places. But remember folks – sometimes, love comes when you least expect it. Unless it’s a can of mushrooms.
Don’t be like Shirley Cohen, folks. Always eat fresh.
A message brought to you by the FDA with thanks to the Rockford Peaches.
…
Hi! Did you read this far? Damn, you must be low-balling hard to have finished this story. But hey, this wasn’t the worst draft. That goes to my very first draft, which you, dear dame, may have the delightful, delectable and de-lovely experience of devouring!
I wrote the below completely drunk – enjoy reading this terrible journey into my brain! <3
Shirley or Shirl, can’t remember the bame right now was afraid of concept
Story Concept
Shirley or Shirl, can’t remember the bame right now was afraid of getting a disease from food borne virus in cans. Can’t blame her bein 1942 and all though I love me a can of mashrooms. Fhi Anyways she was scared because she a domestic cat and all afraid of the world and stuff, whcihc tbh doesn’t make much sense for her chatacter in aloto or in geberal cause how can she be afraud of so much of the world when she is f fcking basebvall player? That makes no sense nr.
Crason told her to stop being a puss in boots, so Shirly gors like, ‘Yeah! I’m gona try new things like canned food and pussy’ wellmt ehy busy didn’t work out, she kissed Carson and Carsonwas like, wtf, but then Shirlyy wet back to eating canned mushrooms.
Boy, that can of mushrooms wrallu made her hard eggs boukl. Of she couldn’t turn Carson wround, she could practice with a can. She tonguws that can like it was a ince ceam until her tongue lecf this is weorse than a edit gonewildstories, have hoyu noticed how shit gonewlestories has bcome layely? It’s not even telling a fucking story, they jts build up and then the sex is just ‘then we had sex’ like, fuck fo.f. I can eitw better smut than that you dumb cunts, even incoling shirly and a can o mushooms. Or tinkey winky, im famous now. And fnink. HI L
OKAY Si Shirly is tonguing ths can of mushrooms and getting real into it despite her togue getting cllat aln and dhit the blood tastes like metakica abhuu I can;fbebem. CLFOKINB OUTV NOPW <3333 ane