The Eating Contest

Arthur Gerhardt and Wilkie Grierson were sitting at the bar of The Bloated Kidney and drinking Death Adder Bug Juice cocktails. They were snacking on little dried Dipsa snakes with puree of nackle spawn. The drinks had mellowed the both of them and Wilkie had forgiven Arthur for locking him up in the medicine bottle. Even the troubling memory of the golden-haired fire witch became buried behind the alcoholically induced haze that it no longer troubled them at all.
"Arthur, for an Ainsel, you are a good guy, but you owe me for that bottle trick."
"You're right Wilkie old boogle, what can I do to make things right?"
"I am thinking of an old ghoulish tradition for easing troubles out the door and letting a little sunshine into your life, not that ghuls are overly fond of sunshine, but a little bit is alright. Anyway, I am thinking of an eating contest."
"I see Wilkie, and presumably your eating contest will involve exotic, putrid and unpleasant-looking ghoul provender."
"I can hardly wait."
"We can start shortly, I have arranged with the bartender to fetch us our dinner from a nearby ghoulish restaurant. I also slipped him some money in case of complaints from the customers. As if there would be complaints. We are only having Borghor Worm Haggis, for goodness sakes!"
The arrival of the gas masked waitress bearing the haggis was preceded by invisible tendrils of horrid scent, somewhat resembling the toe jam of a leprous giant who never washed his feet and always wore salmon skin socks. A few of the customers whimpered and shuddered, falling over each other as they tried to reach the door.
Wilkie inhaled deeply, "Ah divine! Just smell the Fergus goat stomach and eel sauce and the delightful Borgnor worms."
Arthur was taking shallow breaths in an attempt to acclimate his nasal passages to the smell of the horrid meal.
The goat stomach was mottled gray and brown, sitting in a large bowl half full of muddy gravy. It woggled and made squishy sounds as the waitress set it down on their table. Wilkie took a large carving knife and cut off the top of the stomach, he gave Arthur a large slice and then scooped out a nice large portion of maggot like worms and eel sauce to cover the slice. He then began to explain the fine technique of eating the haggis: "You see, Arthur, one chews the stomach but swallows the worms whole."
"Why is that?" asked Arthur, cursing inwardly. Apparently there was no escape from this horrible situation. His only hope would be drinking enough alcohol to counteract the stomach-churning effects of the haggis. He even thought how great it would be if he could reach the point of utter intoxication just in the nick of time, and play dead dog upon the floor. That would solve his entire problem. He wouldn't have to eat the damned thing even though it might cost him a massive hangover in the morning. But of course that was all wishful thinking. There was no loss of consciousness, and the portion of haggis still sat in front of him steaming and oozing malodorously. And there was nothing much he could do about it.
"I think that it is probably because the worms taste really ghastly if you chew them," replied the ghoul with an expression of amusement.
Obediently, Arthur cut off a piece and shoved the lot into his mouth. Slowly, he chewed the concoction and swallowed some worms, thinking to himself that if the taste of chewed worms was ghastly to a ghoul then he did not want to experience it or ever to think about it. Eventually, his jaws grew tired from all the chewing and he finally gave in and swallowed the chunk whole.
"Are we about finished?" Arthur feebly asked, "I could use a shot of brandy about now."
"It's much too soon for brandy," answered Wilkie, his bright red eyes fixed on the ainsel's face, "we are now awaiting the resurrection of the worm."
"Huh, Wilkie?" Arthur felt his flesh beginning to creep. "I don't like the sound of that, what do you mean by 'resurrection?'"
"You don't think they were dead, did you?" said the other, beaming. "They will soon begin to squirm and wiggle and dance a wormy saraband."
Arthur felt suddenly queasy; he quickly covered his mouth with his napkin. "I would much prefer that they remain quiescent until they leave in the natural way," he said rather thickly. "Do you have anything that will keep them from reviving?"
Wilkie grinned, showing an unpleasant number of sharp and ragged teeth. "By sheer coincidence I have one digestion pill which will knock those worms out for the duration. I will gladly sell it to you for one gold obolus."
"Done!" Arthur jerked out an envelop from his coat pocket and shook out a gold coin onto the table. Wilkie, in turn, handed over a large, round, white pill, which the elf promptly swallowed.
"Well, who won the contest?" asked Arthur, trembling slightly. His mouth becoming strangely dry.
"I would call it a tie," said Wilkie with a shrug, "here's your gold coin back, and there were no worms, only pasta, rice noodles to be exact."
"It's just as well you returned the coin," Arthur stammered, passing his hand over his sweaty forehead, "it would have melted into itching powder in your pocket."
"I think we both won," said the other, smiling a little, "and this time, I will buy the brandy."
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