|Author:||klundtacular (Authenticated as klundtacular)|
|Date:||July 12, 2012 at 7:21:44 PM|
|Reply to:||the hamburger! by Fiammetta|
I just decided to make this a trilogy. The story about the doctor's puppy is called Burger Wars and this story is called The Burger Strikes Back. Three guesses what the last one will be called.
Here I am, sitting in the dark all snuggly in wax coated paper. I know I took a trip somewhere but I don’t know where. I’m trying to be patient but sometimes I do really tire of just waiting around to be acted upon. One day I’m going to make all my moves. I hear voices of men. I can’t really tell which ones are which.
“Guys, did you leave me anything?” This one sound cockier than the others. Do I even know what cocky means? Maybe he sounds like he has authority instead. I’ll call him Hubristic for lack of something catchy. No, I like Shirley better.
“We left you something, Leo.” I’m suspicious of this Shirley. First because he’s got a girl’s name like a boy named Sue and second because that ominous ‘something’ could actually be me. Third because my white bag that houses me and several previously-eaten meals, is moving in the air until a large jolt. I think one of my fillings rattled.
“Nice, guys, a Happy Meal.” Are they talking about me? Do I make people happy? Am I a magical man? There’s laughter and I’m left to wonder are they laughing at me or Shirley? I’d laugh at a man named Shirley myself but I’m not sure about anyone else. “Do you have a kiddy chair to go with it?”
“No but we did get you a kiddy partially gelatinated non-dairy gum-based beverage.” I don’t understand how making fun of people is male bonding but I suppose if I had a mouth, I’d call them all fatties. I’ve seen a lot of people order food in the restaurant and I know there are people who are big who have big necks but it’s not fat. It’s something called mushells. Oh wait, that’s not right, but you get the idea. So, friends call each other the opposite and these guys are all mushells men.
Yelp! I got sidetracked and here I am naked on the table next to some sort of non-dairy gum-based beverage and a short order of fries. I’m lonely as I’m the sexiest thing on this table surrounded by mediocrity. Not even the plastic sag of ketchup can make those fries look good.
“It’s not much to look at, guys.”
“That’s because you forgot the most important part,” there’s wrestling in the little box, “the prize!” But I’m the prize. I know I am. I’m the whole point of a burger Happy Meal. A watch gets dumped out of the upside down cardboard. Oh the indignity of it all!
“That’s a nice watch, boss.” There’s a woman now. Do I remember her? I’m suspicious because she sounds devious and condescending. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I don’t know the real word for mushells but I know condescending. It’s something we covered in Beef Patty University. Whatever to you, racist. “I’d like to see you make that look manly.” Oh no she didn’t! I’m calling her Condescending Candy because I’m hungry.
I know I should be all into being eaten since that’s the whole purpose of my existence but death doesn’t really suit me. So, when Shirley takes this monstrosity of a turquoise and yellow watch, I’m kind of excited about being ignored and the oh’s of disappointment that his meaty wrists are too big. Someone comes around with one of those binder clips to get it to close around the wrist. It’s now during this excitement with others finding other such office supply implements that I pause to take a look at the evil doer who will snuff out my life. He’s not bad looking, at least compared to the cook with the hairnet. He looks like he spends some time in the sun and wears a necklace. Perfect, the name Shirley is hitting the right note.
Somehow the group McGuyvers a rubber band to hold the two ends together. Shirley holds up his prize triumphantly to show Condescending Candy glory. The group erupts in cheers. It’s only now that I realize I’m being carried away from the men and their silly games. The voices are softer now. The lighting is different. I’m a little scared now. Will this be the end of our hero and by our hero I mean me?
“Where’s my hamburger?!” shouts Shirley. My heart starts to race as the woman takes off running. I’m on the lam and I like it.
~Raging and quivering female mass of hormones and tosser of Dark Side Cookies™ (trade marked by Etoile)
This message was edited by the author on July 12, 2012 at 7:24:07 PM
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