| 12~23~99
A Tale of Christmas Cheer |
| Atop the McDonald's in Baldwin Park off the I-10 freeway
stands a giant white cup with the ubiquitous golden arches printed on two
sides. Languidly overflowing from the top of the cup is a bouquet
of enormous dirty yellow french fries.
The Santa Ana winds come sweeping along the interstate, causing the fake french fried potatoes to gently sway like palm leaves in a tropical breeze. I observe this through my squint, shielding the glare of a hot sun from my eyes with my left hand at my brow. Then I note that the winds seeming to move the fries do not move any tree's leaves and the breeze does not send litter scurrying across the large vacant Home Depot parking lot behind me. In fact, the air is still, hot and dry. I stare at the oversized deep fried potato snacks attempting to determine why they are wriggling around like that. Then it hits. There is something familiar about the way the french fries are moving. It is very similar to how a child fully enclosed in a sleeping bag will writhe around attempting escape. These fries are more adult sized however. A thought streaks by and nearly escapes my grasp, "Who applies at McDonald's for jobs anyway?" Indeed. Ensconced in the fries are developing future employees undergoing a form of larval incubation before they are ready to helm deep fryers, grills and drive thru windows. One of the cocoons burst open and a deluge of after-birth shoots forth and flies through the air, an oozing gelatinous red and yellow mass that splats with a squishy resonance on the side wall of the Denny's next door. A Denny's drone is immediately dispatched to begin scrubbing up the mess. My recently eaten Quizno's sub sits heavy in my stomach. A snot slick head bursts forth from the cunt of the french fry and begins mantricly babbling, "Wuh, wuh, wuh, wuh, welcome to McDonald's sir may I take your order? Welcome to McDonald's sir may I take your order? Welcome... Order... Welcome... sir...order...may I...May I...Welcome to McDonald's sir may I take your order?" The chant crescendos to a fevered pitch of nigh unintelligible cackling and gibbering as another fry blows its wad up and out into the air where it splashes thickly all over a silver '99 Mercedes, causing it to slide out of control on the slime and careen side long into an old pickup truck that hits the concrete divider and deflects off back into the Mercedes spinning it around to be collided head on with a semi hauling square bales of hay. From the roof of McDonald's comes a confident roar, "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!! Fries with that bitch!!?" The new born turns and jerks the other up by the throat and says in a deep rumbling voice that echoes off the mountains miles away, "Come on! What are we paying you for?! Huh? Time to lean, time to clean!!!" Jesus, I was witnessing the birth of a regional manager, surely a rare event. One by one the other fries spewed up their contents to various effects. Mantric chanting filled the air in cacophonous chaos, "Want fries with that? Welcome to...Please pull ahead... anything to drink?... Try the new McFlurry Welcome to Mc... please... thank-you... welcome ...try..do you.. drink... Mc... Mc.... Mc ...Mc,mc,mc,mc,mc!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Within an hour they were all deep frying, grilling, taking orders, pouring drinks, assembling salads, and as for the new regional manager, well, he fired four old crusts and made the girl who was not impressed enough with his McDonald land powers to perform sexual favors for him, dress up as the grimace and greet people outside as they arrived under the full on burn of the sun. Eventually she caved in and let him fuck her ass through a hole in the fuzzy purple Grimace suit and the cycle was perpetuated. The planting of the regional manager's seed in the symbolic Grimace anus caused the painful anal birth of a whole new batch of psuedo-french fry incubators to fill the cup atop the McDonald's in Baldwin Park off the I-10 freeway. the end It's only a tale of christmas because today is December 23rd. No other reason than that. If you don't find it particularly cheery, then it is only because you are not a pedophile who would like to screw the Grimace in the butt, so there. |