Fletcher Don’t Cook Fryz for Jaffe No More

Posted: May 7, 2013 in Prose, Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

One day…

Clive Barker will arrive at the restaurant I am working at. He will step out of a limousine, throw open the front door to the dive, and walk right up to the front counter.

Does Carl Paul Henneman still cook here? If so, could I have a moment with him? Clive will ask the counter girl.

A server will come back to the kitchen, armed with a snotty attitude.

There’s some weird guy here for your weird ass, she’ll say in her condescending way.

I’ll step out of the inferno with my head down and hair covering my eyes. I’ll look up and instantly recognize my childhood hero.

Carl? Carl Henneman? Man, are you a hard guy to track down, Clive will say.

Wh..?! What the hell are you doing here EvilC? I’ll ask.

Looking for you! Paramount is finally greenlighting a film adaptation of the GREAT AND SECRET SHOW! I need you to pound out the screenplay. I ran across your book on Amazon and you are the only one that can pull something this epic off. Can you get out of here?

Hell yeah, give me a second, I’ll respond.

Then, I will walk right past a crowd of snickering servers, for none of those morons would know a great man such as the one that was just before me. I’ll return to the pit of hell from whence I came. I’ll turn all the fryers, stoves, grills, and ovens to their maximum degree before I throw my apron in the industrial oven. When I walk out the kitchen for my triumphant exit, fires will be raging and smoke will be billowing out from behind me. The manager will be screaming. I’ll have a huge smile on my face. The girl who always gave me a hard time will be standing there with her mouth agape. I’ll walk right up to her and lay a greasy kiss on her perfectly lipstick/d lips.

I always hated you, I’ll say as I walk off in the sunset, talking shop with Mr. Clive Barker.

Suddenly, I am ripped from my reverie.

Hey, retard! They wanted that burger medium, not well done, a server shouts.

Oh well, there is always tomorrow, I think to myself.

I throw another burger on the grill.

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