The Scary Salad Eater #8- Dec 2025
- Lettuce Head
- Dec 14
- 10 min read
INTRODUCTION: GLUTTON SALAD
You ever have that feeling where you just can't stop eating? Happens all the time. The chips and salsa are on point, you made one sandwich and need another. The endless salad at your local restaurant is truly endless. But what happens when all that isn't enough? What happens when you crave something more? Something you can't find at a grocery store. Something... someone...
It's time to feed your craving with the latest edition of the Scary Salad Eater.
DECEMBER HORRORSCOPES WITH MISTRESS OBSIDIAN
Darlings… gather closer. December has cracked open like an overstuffed chestnut, and I have slithered out with a silver spoon between my teeth. The mortals call this the season of giving. I call it the season of swallowing.
Do you hear it? The creak of tables buckling under greed? The sigh of belts loosening in surrender? The slow, luxurious pulse of joy curdling into excess?
Every year, you pretend you’re celebrating love. But I—Mistress Obsidian, Patron Saint of Appetite and Ruin—see what’s really going on behind those garlands.
You’re hungry. Hungry for warmth. Hungry for escape. Hungry for just one more bite of something you know will break you.
And the cosmos? Oh, my sweets… the cosmos is hungrier still.
This month, the stars come to the table with their mouths already full. They feast upon your vices. They sip the broth of your hopes. They crack your resolutions like bones to get at the soft, buttery marrow inside.
Do not look away. Do not resist. You came here for the horroscopes—and I came to serve them piping hot.
So loosen your spirit. Unbutton your fate. Lean in, lips trembling, as I reveal what December devours from each of you.
After all… In Glutton Salad, YOU are always the main course.
♈ ARIES — The Feast Hunts You
You burn fast this month, little ram, and the holiday table smells your ambition. Every step you take leaves a buttery sheen behind—your hunger, your heat, your inability to say no to anything that crackles. Be warned: something in the kitchen is stalking you. Advice: Don’t carve the roast. It’s already memorized your fingerprints. Lucky Number: 451 degrees. Lucky Charm: A fork with one tine missing… or broken off inside someone.
♉ TAURUS — Fattened for Winter
Comfort calls to you, Taurus. Too loudly. Too sweetly. You chase decadence the way wolves chase rabbits, but this month the decadence chases back. Every indulgence adds a new layer of spiritual fat—delicious, tempting, incredibly fragrant to predators on the astral plane. Advice: If a second slice of pie whispers your name, run. Lucky Number: Stuffed to 2. Lucky Charm: A velvet ribbon sticky with syrup.
♊ GEMINI — Two Mouths, One Appetite
Oh, curious twins. You sample everything—gossip, cookies, souls. But this month, the cosmos demands a full-course commitment. Every nibble you take awakens your shadow-self’s ravenous twin. Feed one, starve the other, and watch what happens when the starving one finally claws free. Advice: Do NOT share a drink with your reflection. Lucky Number: ½. Lucky Charm: A cracked candy cane sharpened at the tip.
♋ CANCER — The Hearth is Hungry
You crave warmth this season, sweet crab, but warmth craves you right back. That cozy kitchen glow? It’s not affection—it’s appetite. Your shell softens beneath the holiday heat; your heart becomes tender, basted in sentimentality. Something ancient waits to sauté your hopes. Advice: Don’t linger near the oven—it remembers you. Lucky Number: 3 simmering minutes. Lucky Charm: A wooden spoon that stirs itself at night.
♌ LEO — The Lion at the Banquet
Aren’t you magnificent, Leo? You enter the room and even the cranberry sauce trembles. Your presence is a feast—your pride, the main course. But beware: adoration fattens the ego, and Mistress Obsidian warns that an overstuffed ego invites carving knives. Advice: Do not sit at the head of the table. It’s a trap. Lucky Number: 9 roaring courses. Lucky Charm: A scorched ornament shaped like your own face.
♍ VIRGO — The Overfed Perfectionist
You try to manage the chaos—count the cookies, align the silverware, police everyone’s bites. But gluttony flows like gravy this month, and no list will dam it. Something messy, ravenous, and jolly wants to ruin your tidy world—and it will start with your appetite for control. Advice: When the table starts breathing, don’t correct its rhythm. Lucky Number: 13 crumbs you can’t account for. Lucky Charm: A napkin embroidered with warnings you can’t quite read.
♎ LIBRA — The Scales Tip Toward Excess
You balance sweetness and spice, guilt and pleasure—until this month, when holiday temptation slams its fist on your delicate scale. Suddenly, indulgence weighs more than restraint. You’ll taste something you shouldn’t, and once you do, the craving will follow you into January’s bones. Advice: If the punch bowl smiles, decline politely. Lucky Number: 2 pounds too many. Lucky Charm: A silver bell that rings when nothing moves.
♏ SCORPIO — The Carnivore of Christmas
Oh Scorpio. You don’t eat—you hunt. And this season? You are unstoppable. Gluttony empowers you, sharpens you, gilds your venom in peppermint. But there is one dish you cannot consume: revenge disguised as dessert. Advice: If someone offers fruitcake, check for teeth marks. Lucky Number: VIII. Lucky Charm: A ribbon-wrapped secret you should never open.
♐ SAGITTARIUS — The Bottomless Pit in Elf’s Clothing
Joyful Sag, your enthusiasm devours everything—chaos, pastries, dangerous invitations. This month your stomach becomes a portal, a cheerful abyss into which holiday spirits (and Spirit) gladly tumble. But beware: something might climb back out. Advice: Don’t accept mystery leftovers. Lucky Number: Infinity… seconds before disaster. Lucky Charm: A jingle bell that echoes long after it falls silent.
♑ CAPRICORN — Consumed by Ambition
You feast on goals the way others feast on ham. But this winter, ambition bites back. You’ve worked too hard, climbed too high, and now something ancient waits on the peak—starved for achievers who smell of exhaustion and brandy. Advice: Skip the office party. The punch has plans for you. Lucky Number: 10,000 steps toward the wrong mountain. Lucky Charm: A cracked hourglass filled with cookie crumbs.
♒ AQUARIUS — The Innovator of Indulgence
You don’t eat tradition—you reinvent it. But this season, your strange new recipes stir something older than winter. Your holiday experiments summon gluttony’s muse: a creature made of tinsel, long hunger, and impossible taste buds. Advice: Don’t drink anything glowing. Lucky Number: 404 calories not found. Lucky Charm: A metallic straw that freezes to your lips.
♓ PISCES — The Dreaming Devourer
You swim through December in a fog of sugar, memory, and yearning. But beware—your dreams have begun eating you. Night after night, the feasts in your mind grow louder, richer, more impossible. Something waits beneath your pillow with a napkin tucked neatly under its chin. Advice: If you hear chewing, it’s not the pipes. Lucky Number: 7 illusions per bite. Lucky Charm: A soggy stocking dripping onto the floor.
THE DAY THEY TURNED
By Michael A. Dyer
"Three days later he hit various stops, guns blazing and explosives causing immeasurable bodily damage. Working in stealth, when he could, he’d sneak up behind the ghouls and destroy their brains by any means available. It was hard to come upon survivors these days and he took comfort with the calculated efficiency of a well trained warrior. A drive by had killed at least a dozen zombies lingering around a Burger King parking lot, while ten or twenty more were destroyed after a stick of dynamite was thrown at a familiar meeting spot in the downtown area."
MR. MANICOTTI'S HOLIDAY SURVIVAL GUIDE
For readers who want to make it to January with all limbs, dignity, and intestines intact.
Ey, listen up ya festive goblins—Mr. Manicotti’s here to teach you HOW NOT TO DIE between Thanksgiving leftovers and New Year’s glitter vomit. I been around the holiday block a few dozen times. I got the scars. I got the restraining orders. I got the sauce recipe the government tried to classify.
So here we go. Strap in, shut up, and do EXACTLY what I say if you wanna make it to the next issue.
1. NEVER TRUST A DISH THAT SMILES BACK AT YOU.
I don’t care how good Nonna’s lasagna looks—if it grins, you LEAVE. Holiday gluttony is bad enough without your entrée developing opinions.
Rule of Thumb: If it blinks? RUN.
2. EAT BEFORE THE PARTY—NOT AT THE PARTY.
Because here’s the thing: You don’t KNOW what these people put in their food.
“Secret ingredient” my ass. I’ve seen cranberries that whisper. I’ve seen stuffing that tried to unionize. I once saw a fruitcake gnaw its way through drywall.
Stay safe. Pre-eat.
3. DON’T FALL ASLEEP NEAR THE TREE.
You think trees are passive? Wrong. You think those ornaments just hang there? WRONG AGAIN.
If the tinsel starts moving on its own, that ain’t “holiday magic.” That’s a festive parasite looking for a warm host with low self-esteem and high sugar intake.
4. REGIFT WITH EXTREME CAUTION.
Look, I know you wanna get rid of that handcrafted mug your weird coworker made. But some gifts come CURSED.
If it:
hums,
vibrates in a non-fun way,
leaks brine,
or tries to eat wrapping paper…
DO NOT PASS IT ON. The curse transfers through social obligation. (This is why secret Santa is a war crime.)
5. IF A CAROLER WON’T BLINK—DON’T OPEN THE DOOR.
Last year I made this mistake. Now I gotta pour holy water on my welcome mat every night like it’s SPF 50.
6. KEEP A JAR OF PICKLED GARLIC IN EVERY ROOM.
Why? Don’t ask questions. Just do it. Trust me.
7. DON’T FOLLOW ANY STRANGE LIGHTS IN THE SNOW.
I don’t care how “pretty” it looks. I don’t care if it’s singing your grandmother’s lullaby. You follow that light? You’ll wake up inside a snowbank shaped EXACTLY like your outline.
8. IF THE HOST SAYS “WE HAVE A SPECIAL HOLIDAY TRADITION…” LEAVE.
There’s ALWAYS something weird coming after that sentence.
Last time I heard it, I got chased by a man dressed like a gingerbread cookie screaming about “THE SACRED ICING.”
Never again.
9. DON’T TAKE LEFTOVERS FROM ANYONE WHOSE EYES GLAZE OVER.
Glaze belongs on ham, not on people. If they look like a pastry, they ARE a pastry. Respectfully decline.
10. MOST IMPORTANTLY: AVOID HOLIDAY GLUTTONY.
Not for health reasons. Not for moral reasons.
Because the more you eat, the easier it is for the creatures to track you. Overfed souls glow like deep-fried lanterns.
And NOTHING hunts better than a monster with a sweet tooth.
🍝✨ MR. MANICOTTI’S FINAL WORD OF WISDOM
“If you can't beat the holidays… out-eat 'em. If you can’t out-eat ‘em… fake your death ‘til January.”
He salutes. A garlic knot falls out of his coat. He doesn’t notice.
THE HOLIDAY SIREN: LADY NOELLE NECROTICA
Queen of Winter Hunger, Devourer of Desire, Patron Saint of Overstuffed Souls
Occupation: Frostbite courtesan, winter warlock, seasonal torment enthusiast Turn-Ons: Warm bodies in cold rooms, gluttony, devotion disguised as dessert Turn-Offs: Lukewarm emotions, under-seasoned mortals, anyone who says “I’m watching my calories”
🥬 LETTUCE HEAD INTRO
This month, Salad Lovers, I slip on my nicest thrift-store tuxedo and sled straight into the frostbitten inferno to meet a woman so cold she makes snowstorms blush. She’s the spirit of winter excess—wrapped in velvet frost, dripping pearls made from frozen screams, and carrying a chalice filled with seasonal regret.
Put your tongues away and your mittens on. Here comes Lady Noelle Necrotica.
🧊❄️ THE INTERVIEW
Lettuce Head:
“Season’s greetings, my frosty snack! The pleasure is all mine—and the honor too. May I just say you look absolutely breathtaking tonight? Like if Christmas married a horror movie and they made a fashion baby.”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“Flattery melts quickly on me, Lettuce Head. But you’re cute when you shiver.”
Lettuce Head:
“Oh trust me, I can shiver on command. Now—Holiday Siren, avatar of gluttony, destroyer of diets—how did you rise to seasonal infamy?”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“Every winter someone whispers a wish they shouldn’t. A wish for more—more warmth, more sweetness, more indulgence. I answer those wishes. I appear wherever desire piles up like drifts of snow. And then… I feast.”
Lettuce Head:
“Mm, the way you said ‘feast’ activated something in me, but we’ll unpack that later. What exactly are you feasting on?”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“Overindulgence. Those last three bites you didn’t need. That midnight craving you hide from yourself. The guilt you marinate in afterward. I savor it all. Gluttony is delicious when it’s slow-cooked.”
Lettuce Head:
“Speaking of cravings, your gown tonight is stunning. Is that… is that fabric made of frost?”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“Frost, yes. And fat from broken resolutions. Very supple. Very moisturizing.”
Lettuce Head:
“…I suddenly fear January. Anyway—what kind of mortals seek your company during the holidays?”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“The lonely, the greedy, the beautiful, the bored. Anyone who thinks one more taste can fill the emptiness. They come to me full of hope—I send them home full of regret. Stuffed, glazed, and spiritually marinated.”
Lettuce Head:
“Okay, I’m just gonna say it—you’re incredibly intimidating, and I’m trying very hard to keep my cool. What do you find romantic during the holiday season?”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“A warm breath against a cold window. A heartbeat speeding under too many blankets. And someone who knows better— but indulges anyway.”
Lettuce Head:
“…I—uh—ma’am, I think you just flirted me into a medical event. Last question before my pulse stops tap dancing: What’s your favorite holiday treat?”
Lady Noelle Necrotica:
“Overripe souls soaked in brandy. Or peppermint bark. Whichever is available.”
Lettuce Head:
“There you have it, Salad Eaters—Lady Noelle Necrotica: the queen of cold cravings, the spirit of seasonal excess, the woman who will absolutely eat your heart and serve it on good china.
If you hear bells jingling in the dark, don’t open the door— she’s already behind you, darling.”
WE CAN SAVOR MEAT OR SCREAMS
By: C. Rommial Butler
"We can savor meat or screams, but not both, it seems, Skrellorg thought, recalling a line from an old Cregarian brood rhyme.
According to Cregarian lore, a living meal transfers vital force which is otherwise not found in dead meat."
FINE DINING IN HOLLOW RIDGE
CREEPY LINGUINE'S GLUTTON SALAD HOLIDAY NOG
“You can taste the hunger, the regret, and every promise you made to ‘take it easy this year.’ Go on, sugar—sip. December was always going to devour you anyway.”
❄️ THE TALE
They say this monstrous nog was first ladled out at The Feast of Saint Overindulgence, a midnight banquet held in a cathedral built entirely of wishbones.
Monks in butter-stained robes sang hymns to Excess while pilgrims crawled on their knees toward a single golden punchbowl the size of a baptismal font.
When the bell tolled thirteen, the nog began to boil.
A voice rose from the froth—not holy, not human—whispering:
“Drink deeply, children… hunger is the only true communion.”
By sunrise, the cathedral had vanished. But the nog remained. It always finds the ones who are already too full… and still reaching for more.
If a cup of pale gold appears beside your plate tonight, steaming gently in a way milk should NOT steam—don’t touch it. It already knows your cravings.
🔥 THE RECIPE
(serves one guest who definitely should have stopped after dessert)
2 oz dark rum
1 oz bourbon (for the memory you’re trying to drown)
4 oz rich eggnog (the thicker, the deadlier)
1 oz sweetened condensed milk
1 tsp vanilla
Fresh nutmeg
Cinnamon stick (for stirring, screaming optional)
🕯️ INSTRUCTIONS
Warm your mug. Not for temperature— for intimidation.
In a shaker, combine rum, bourbon, eggnog, and condensed milk. Shake until the mixture feels heavier than your conscience.
Pour into your mug and grate nutmeg over the top. Stop when the air smells like ghosts baking cookies.
Insert a cinnamon stick and stir clockwise to invite indulgence… counterclockwise to invite trouble.
Take a sip. If you hear sleigh bells in the distance, don’t worry. They’re not coming for gifts.
😈 LINGUINE’S NOTE: “THE YULE LOGIC DEATH BOMB” VARIANT
Replace the bourbon with 100-proof spiced rum, serve it piping hot, and drop in a cube of flaming brown sugar.
Perfect for:
family gatherings that need thinning,
winter nights too quiet for comfort,
and any date where you want to test someone’s true capacity for chaos.
Warning: May cause caroling in tongues, spontaneous levitation, and calling your ex at 2 a.m. to confess you’re “possessed by holiday cheer.”
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