Nuts at the King's

     While I sit in my favorite fast food restaurant I notice that my fries are somewhat frozen, and in fact the only thing on my tray that narrowly resembles room temperature is the bun of my spicy chicken “fried” sandwich. The place is packed fuller than a hippie girl's bikini bottoms, and I hear a young boy beckon the call of my own heart warming desire “I'd like to kick that King of Fries square in the nuts!” and everything gets blurry.
     Coming to a point of clarity I notice that the inside of the window to what once was an eatery, but now is nothing but a blood bath, has lettuce stuck to the backwards logo. I turn cross eyed as I slurp the last of my soda, and finally realize that's how mirrors work; you pier into it and it shows you the reverse of what's outside. The stench of  flatulence is horrible in here, so I place my hands which are oddly covered with the remnants of mustard on the see through door and make my way into the open outdoors.
     As I walk towards my car I flip my empty soda container over my right shoulder, and quickly sprint back to the unopenable window, unzip my pants, and press my testicles square against the glass (underneath the french fries protruding from the King's mouth) “Why don't you suck on these Big Boys Mr. Burgers!?!” I hear a muffled holler from one of the only survivors “Ewe that man's harry!” It was the African Queen with ample bosom, and her son ran out of the door from the King of Fries exclaiming “You're my hero!” I stride towards my car with nothing but a sense of satisfaction.
     And oh God it's the police, me with my pea shooter out of ammunition. You would laugh if you were a redneck at the gun range that I've never been to, but my little pistol will empty your skull as sure as a Reality Television Star has shit for brains. The wailers on the cop car play a symphony of madness while I simply don't know what to do. I yell “You must flee young prince!” and and and my most noble observer runs inside. The African Queen squishes the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen against my end's last reckoning for karma, that damn King of Fries. It's hard to turn my head, but the cops are coming in droves now. I snarl with mal-contempt and whisper loud enough to shatter red and blue “This is how I want it to end.” and something snaps.
     Sneaky bastard, a cop slams me on the asphalt from behind and growls in my ear  “Oh I've got a fresh one for tonight's little private smack and tickle. That's right I love to hand out those deliverance squeals myself, and if you think I'm bluffin, why don't you just feel what's rubbin against your ass.” Unfortunately for me I don't know what the cop looks like, or how tall he is, but I can all ready tell his pants have to be special ordered to hide his elephantiasis of the groin.    
     I always thought if I were to experiment with homosexuality, that it would be with a homely fellow. I'd just love to torture the ass of some little librarian while wearing his broken glasses, and all the time in the world. That's not me, but I'm starting to really like the warmth of the Man's breath on my neck, and the honeymoon's over. I'm drug over the asphalt in the parking lot by two rotund officers while my would be lover bellows a horrible low pitch chuckle that sounds like a purring motorcycle engine. The chubby cops slam me down in the office chair to the King of Fries himself. I hear a horrifying grumble and a booming voice of mischievous horrible horrificness “These cops might be pigs to you, but you're about to meet the Big Bologna.”
     “All right now mister, I'm not just upset with you here. You see, what you've done is written out as a total waste of tax payer's money.” even though the cop is as big as a house, and can barely fit through the door, he has a voice that's higher than an ostrich's mating call (he must have known the touch of my future husband). And so buts could if by the dozen although I accept what they show me.
     The picture on the security monitor is way too much of so much grain for me to enjoy my masterpiece with complete satisfaction; so I just put my gun back into my pants and head to the counter for a refund. I am glad to have sat next to you though, seeing that cleavage made it worth all the hassle. Now I've got a clown to go ask  about a coronary.  

Story by: M.E.L.