Today’s post is something just for your enjoyment. So, enjoy!
Barry knew his mumbling was going to get him killed someday. But he thought that it would at least be something more dramatic, something more heroic, something more…well, more than this. Sitting at the stop light in his 12-year old Buick Century, mumbling along with the songs playing from the CD player, Barry noticed something up in the sky. It was a sight he recognized, but for some reason it held his attention and would not let go. Even the honking of the horns behind him didn’t break his concentration and focus from that sight familiar to millions of Americans: the Golden Arches.
Snapping out of his stupor (mumbling still with the music), Barry slammed on the gas and cut in front of three lanes of traffic to turn into the McParking Lot. He paid no mind to the 12-car pileup that his rapid exodus had caused. Instead, he bolted from his baby-blue car and ran to open the door of the restaurant.
The smell of French fries attacked his nostrils…well, as soon as he stepped past the bathroom area that is. Barry quietly mumbled something about wishing he’d used the other door. Much to his delight, there was no one in line ahead of him.
“Can I take your order please?” said the dazed pimple-faced kid on the other side of the counter.
Barry mumbled his order, “Iwanabigmacwitextachese.”
Barry repeated himself, this time a little louder, but still mumbling, “Iwanabigmacwitextachese.”
The kid behind the register looked like his brain was about to explode from trying to comprehend Barry’s mumbling request. Suddenly, though, it all made sense. “Ah, gotcha, yeah. We can do that. Would you like fries with that?”
Barry mumbled a response, but thought he’d give the kid some help by nodding at the same time.
“And a drink?”
Barry just nodded and the McEmployee handed him an empty cup. After paying $8.43, Barry went to get his drink, mumbling to himself about the skyrocketing price of artery-clogging food. Grabbing his tray of food on the way back, he found an empty table by the window—and away from the restrooms. He ripped open the wrapper on his burger and proceeded to chomp for all he was worth, tossing fries in his mouth at random intervals while filling in the gaps with quick gulps of some Coke product.
Almost done with the burger, Barry felt a sharp pain in his chest and he fell forward to the table. A heart attack! As he was struggling with the pain, he knocked the receipt onto the floor, where it fluttered, print-side up. Barry’s eyes grew wide as he saw what it said. Barry knew his mumbling was going to get him killed someday—and that day was today. The last thing that he read in this life was the words “Big Mac with extra grease.”