A fartingly pretentious burger joint. TEDDY waits at a table. HOST stands nearby, but still sort of in the way.
HOST: Welcome back to, “I Can’t Be Assed”. Our next story this evening is a flaccid tale of fickle fast food.
Vincent Raginghardon, better known to his friends as, “Bill,” wasn’t very well-liked at all, thus nobody really cared nor noticed when or even how he died. Meanwhile, Billy’s half-brother, Teddy Nippleblaster, continues to be missed to this day.
Teddy waves to the audience.
HOST: Not now.
TEDDY: (pouts) Sorry.
HOST: Oh. Fine. Here.
Host gives Teddy a box of crayons.
Teddy perks up, scribbles all over the menu in crayon.
HOST: As I was saying…
Teddy was coincidentally eating at his half-brothers second-favorite burger joint on what also happened to be the anniversary of Bill’s death.
WAITER brings Teddy a sloppy mess of a burger. Teddy takes an equally sloppy bite, smiles and gestures approvingly to Waiter.
It was the sort of fine ground beef establishment that emphasizes presentation and comically large and wholly inedible brioche buns over trivial things like taste, price, or a respectable amount of aioli that doesn’t leave your burger a soggy mess before you’ve even had a chance to taste the damned thing.
Waiter mutters something to Teddy about leaving a review for free fries.
And the less said about the parking, the better.
Teddy eagerly pulls out his phone, proceeds to write a review.
But as Teddy wrote up a patronizingly positive review in exchange for a free platter of stone cold, yet somehow still soggy feta fries, he suddenly had the urge to vomit and defecate.
Teddy squirms and writhes in his seat.
Perhaps it was the heretical amount of room-temperature garlic and ranch aioli his burger had been swimming in. Or perhaps, it was the bits of bones and globs of thick, runny fat that flowed from the unevenly cooked patty that wasn’t setting well in his tummy.
Teddy is sickened further by Host’s description of it all.
Either way, Teddy was hardly paying much attention to anything else other than the sudden, powerful urge to not vomit and defecate in a public sense.
Teddy asks for directions to the restroom. Waiter gestures, “Thatta way”
Now. There’s something to be said about minding one’s surroundings as one quickly waddles about in search of a toilet or unoccupied sink to relieve one’s self. I’m not quite sure what that might be, of course.
Teddy hurries off, navigates a hallway, pushes through a pair of swinging double-doors, and into a blood-soaked, scream-filled abattoir.
But given how Mr. Nippleblaster failed to notice his being guided down a winding hallway, through a pair of large, swinging double-doors, into a blood-soaked and scream-filled abattoir…
Teddy falls into a giant meat grinder.
…used to butcher and process countless hand-picked cows, chickens, and other assorted animals and rodents for fifteen-dollar burgers…
Teddy is ground up, processed, and cooked up as another sloppy mess of a burger.
…and then served up medium rare to the still-living, non-hamburgerized patrons of a grossly overrated hamburger bar and grill in Huntington Beach…
Waiter serves up the Teddy-Burger to another CUSTOMER.
…it’s probably safe to assume there might be some vague moral or insight to glean from such a careless mistake.