Monday, September 29, 2014

Armageddon At McDonald's

I don't know when it started or how it exactly happened. I was on my way home from work and decided to stop in at McDonald's for a bite to eat. I thought about going through the drive-thru but the line was too long and it was just too hot and muggy out, so I went inside.

Everything becomes blank the moment I entered the doors. The next thing I know, I'm waking up and lying on the floor. Dozens of people scattered everywhere. Are they alive? Are they dead? Am I?

I slowly got to my feet and stumbled out the door. Everything was flattened in the blast. Well, almost everything. A few buildings still stood, and as I turned around, so too stood the Mickey D's. "No super-size today." I reckoned out loud and to myself.

Soon, others began to regain consciousness. Still unsure as to what exactly happened, theories began to form from our now small and dysfunctional group of survivors. "A holocaust?" One person suggested.

"Not likely." Another one remarked. This sparked a debate that quickly escalated into an argument. I had to gain control of these people before they ended up killing each other. With no other options on the table, I quickly made myself the leader. "What shall we call you?" Was the question. I simply turned to look out over the mass destruction all around. I took in a deep breath. "You shall call me the Ronald."

It wasn't long before we formed a militarized system of operations. We later discovered that Nazi's were behind the blast. "Those Nazi bastards." I would constantly say. I said it so much that it quickly became my catch phrase. Well, one of my catch phrases anyway. My other one was, "Holy McRib Mayor McCheese."

Grimace was the only one I didn't fully trust in this new world order. The man, uh, or the thing, or whatever the hell he or it is, just didn't have any sex organs. Nor did he have an anus. He had a mouth and he ate, quite often in fact and quite a lot per sitting, and while food went in, it never came back out. I found that more weird than the Hamburglar with a normal face and a Mayor with a face of a cheeseburger. I don't understand it. What gives? .... My question would go unanswered.

We soon learned that the Nazi's were going around and killing everyone. Many were being impaled by the hundreds and the thousands. What did they want? What were they after? Those are two questions that basically mean the same thing and probably should have the same answer. Why I asked both of those questions is beyond me. I'm blonde that way, but not for long. I had to disguise myself from the Nazi's so I dyed my hair red and turned it into an afro. I painted my face and wore a yellow uniform to distinguish myself, and making it a lot easier for the Nazi's to spot me from a distance and kill me a lot easier than if I just wore camouflage and black face paint. "Blonde bastard." I would grunt on occasion. (Now I have three catch phrases.)

Word soon got out to the Nazi's that I was now in control. The war had begun, and it was up to me to lead the new generation of freedom fighters against the evil empire of Nazi's. "Those Nazi bastards." I mumbled.

Fearing my safety, as they damn well should, my fellow freedom fighters decided to dress exactly like me. This would make it harder for the Nazi's to figure out who I was. I wasn't even sure anymore myself. I mean seriously, who was I? Who am I trying to be? Two more questions that probably have the same exact answer.

Suddenly, we were under attack. Me and my fellow freedom fighters fought as hard as we could. The Nazi's were everywhere. Screams from those who were getting shot and screams from those who were running away like frightened little rabbits. I didn't blame them. I ran too. This whole ordeal was too surreal for my mind to deal with and accept. "We're not eating Happy Meals anymore." I proclaimed the obvious.

"I love the smell of secret sauce in the morning." Mayor McCheese boldly stated while looking out over the carnage.

"Get your head down you McCheese fuck, you're gonna get grilled!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. He just placed a French Fry in his mouth and walked towards the latrine. "I got better things to do!" He shouted back at me. "Like taking a dump!"

I will admit, the man has nice smelling poop. It smells like Quarter-Pounders ...... With cheese, they do. I still wouldn't taste it though, not for all the Big Macs in the world. Huh-uh, forget it. Not happening.

When the battle was over, nothing remained but little boy and little girl toys - spread out all over the battlefield .... and death. Not even the fun zone was spared. And many good soldiers were impaled by the Nazi's. I thought those who were captured would be spared and treated properly under the rules of the Geneva Convention, but I was sadly mistaken. The Nazi's didn't play by the normal rules of war. They had their own etiquette to abide by. That etiquette was all about inflicting as much pain as possible. I peeked over a ridge to get a view. I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing. "Son of a McNuggett." I graveled, creating yet another new catch phrase. I took in a deep breath and soon closed those eyes in despair. "We have to win this war!" I declared in my anger. "We must!" And after a few moments of dramatic thought, "But how?"

We managed to capture some prisoners. Just a handful of Nazi's that were butt banging behind a bush or something. A few of them appeared as if they hadn't eaten for days, perhaps weeks. Okay, maybe months. One was trying to demonstrate his break-dancing skills. That or he was having an epileptic seizure.

Mayor McCheese went all McRambo on their McAsses. I watched in horror. No, wait, strike that, I watched a horror .... show that is. I forget the name of it, but it was g-oooooooooo-d.

"This war is driving us nutso!" I screamed, kicking a tree ..... and breaking my toes and half my foot in the process. "And court-martial that god-damn tree too!"

Madness was the word of the day. The word yesterday was peppermint. I liked yesterdays word a lot better. So did the rest of the squad. I know this because we actually took a vote on it, and it was unanimous. We weren't really sure about what the word for tomorrow was gonna be, but we all did agree it should be something as awesome as peppermint. Maybe spearmint?

"We live in hell!" I yelled for the Gods to hear. Gods? What Gods? What Gods would allow such a travesty? What Gods I ask you!? ... No answer was ever given. None was really expected.

"I'm thirsty." A voice from a wounded soldier creaked. I turned to look at his bright red and white face. "Do we have any Hawaiian Punch left?" He wondered.

"Hawaiian Punch?" My confused expression was written on my face ...... under the face paint of course, but it was there, trust me. Oh yes, that expression of confusion was there. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked him. "Stop talking in riddles!"

I stood before one of the old McDonald's store. Impaled leftovers made it hard to think straight. So much waste of life. "Why?" I heard myself asking. "Why, why, why?"

"Fate." A voice from behind trickled through my ears. I turned around slowly for effect.

"Fate?" I reiterated.

"Yes, fate." The stranger also reiterated. This is when I realized we could stand there all day reiterating ourselves, and possibly each other if one of us didn't stop the nonsense and stop it pronto too. So I did ...... Stopped it, I mean. I stopped it. And it wasn't really that hard to do actually. "What do you know about fate?" I quizzed him, hoping he was good at pop-quizzes - He wasn't.

"I know a lot about fate!" He fired at me viciously. "A lot I tell you! More than you!"

"Easy there, Pedro, slow your roll. Okay, I get it, you know a lot about fate, geesh. Cry me a river already, Justin. Good Lord."

The next few days are a blur. Most of what I can recall revolves around vanilla milkshakes. Although, one green McShamrock shake did make an appearance. I always liked those green pleasures of sweet guilt. Don't get me wrong, the chocolate milkshake is fine too, but for my dollar, the McShamrock shakes are mighty tasty. (Okay, listen, I know they are not called McShamrock shakes, but just plain Shamrock shakes, but this is my story and I will call them whatever I like. Besides, when you put a Mc in front of everything, it sounds cooler. For example, "Go McFuck your McSelf up your McAss with a McDildo and a McPineapple." ..... See what I mean? Funny stuff right there.)

"We are fast becoming like animals." I whispered to a comrade sitting next to me. He took on the appearance of being lost in deep thought. Finally, he broke his silence. "Who is Pedro?"

It wasn't long before we got a ride up river by a family of psychotic dolphins ... or porpoises ... I really don't know because I can't tell the difference between them. Anyhow, we got a great reception from the people who were spread out all over the West bank. Too bad those people were ........ dead!

The Hamburglar picked up some prostitutes from a place called "Wendy's" and "Taco Bell". We basically had an all out unbridled orgy as we scooted closer to our destination. The girls from "Wendy's" had hair similar to mine. The girls from "Taco Bell" spoke a most unusual language. "Soft taco supreme burrito enchilada?" One of them seductively winked at me. I began to rub my belly. "I don't know what the hell you just said," I informed her, 'but it sounded pretty damn awesome. Count me in!"

War is hell. That's all I know about war. Peace is a little bit of alright. That's all I know about peace. But what I was going through at the moment was something entirely different than all of that put together ..... and then some.

I don't know what I just said.

I looked all around me. The noon-day sun was at high noon in the sky. I could see the dead bodies the Nazi's left behind. "Those Nazi bastards." I grumbled. I still had some grit left inside of me after all. Good, because I was going to need it if I had any chance in getting out of this war alive. Weeks passed and believe me when I say that 'when you go weeks without anything from McDonald's, your tummy knows it', so does your brain. The with-drawls are worst than that of if you quit smoking. Okay, maybe not that bad, but the cravings are pretty great. You're just gonna have to take my word for that one.

"They didn't leave much behind, did they?" One soldier asked me.

I turned my head and spat some tobacco onto the ground. "I'm not sure." I replied. "Who is Much? And where do you think they could have taken him?"

He stared at me queerly. Not that I am implying that he is gay, I mean, a persons sexual preference is nobody's business but their own. You know what I mean?

The war was starting to wind down. One night, me and the boys lit it up with an "anything goes" party - not for the faint of heart. There were more wet farts taking place than you can shake a stick at. I don't know what that means.

One man spilled acid in his eyes and wailed in agony as we watched him whittle away and slip into the after-world. "That really looked like it hurt." One guy was overheard saying. I coughed at it. "Nonsense. It was a manly way to go. I wish I could go like that."

"There is more acid left if you want to try some." Somebody brought to my attention. I thought for a moment before coming to my senses. "No, that's okay, it's not my time to die just yet. Maybe next time."

"Cool." The guy replied. "We are having another party next weekend. How about then?"

"Um, yeah, sounds great!" I concurred, then realizing, "Oh man, I just remembered, I have an appointment next weekend and I won't be able to make it."

"No way!" The guy was shocked to learn. "The whole weekend?"

"Yep, the whole weekend."

"That's messed up dude because I really wanted to watch you kill yourself with acid."

"I know, right?" I agreed. "Bummer."

More impaled soldiers were all I could see, smell and .... basically that's it, just see and smell. I don't know what I was going to say after that. Maybe touch? But that would be gross. Who would want to touch an impaled body? Not I.

I don't know where this war was going to take me and to be completely honest, I don't want to know. Some things are just better off left alone, you know what I mean? And let's just call a spade what it is, a spade and nobody in their right mind is going to want to know where this war was taking them or their spades. For all we know, it could take them to a dark place of their childhood where evil nannies and grumpy old men lurk in shadowy bushes around every corner that hasn't a night-lite. And seriously, that would suck Shamrock shakes. (See, that sentence would have ended funnier if I said "McShamrock".)

I sat under a poplar tree to finish off a few lines in my journal. A fellow soldier came to cop a squat next to me. "Any plans for after the war?" He asked me.

I was a bit sarcastic in my response. "War? This aint a war." I told him. "Now Vietnam, that was a war."

"Maybe so," The soldier took offense. "But Tasty-Freeze aint got nothing on me!" And off he scampered in his disgust and filth.

"You psychotic bastards!" I wailed out in frustration. I mean, some people, right?

Anyhow, I got to my feet and called everyone together. It was time to make a heart felt speech. Every war has to has one. This one is mine.

"I want to thank you guys for all of your support." I started to say before someone cut me off.

"Had no choice in the matter."

I looked over at the crowd. I didn't know who said it, but I responded nonetheless. "Shut up. Just shut the hell up and let me finish my speech for Gods sake. Can I finish my speech?" I asked, but it was rhetorical. "Can I? Can I finish, can I finish? Can I finish my McMother McFucking McSpeech?"

(See, I told you.)

And so I did. I finally got to finish my speech. And what a speech it was too. You should have been there. It was awesome! You should have heard every single word. I should have had someone write it down so I could remember what the hell I said and then I could have added it to this story but you know, shit happens. But trust me, it was freaking golden. Awesome I tell you! 

The war may have ended, but not without its critics. Hey, I admit that I didn't do things according to the rules, and I get it that I made a few errors in judgement, but I like to think of it as "on the job" experience. I'm sure I'll do better next time. But rest assured, we did win the war. Not that anyone really wins a war, but if there are any winners then we would be those winners. And yes, we would expect our chicken dinners, too. Better damn well know that!


*  This story was written by Carroll Bryant. And no, he wasn't on drugs. Except the drugs his doctor prescribed for him for his heart attack. He was however, going through smoking with-drawls as it has been almost a month now since he last smoked a cigarette. 

I'm freaking going crazy here! Crazy I tell ya! 

Oh, all rights reserved. Thank you. 

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