“Eheh!” Shef cackled like a goose as he waddled his short, squat, squash-like body up the main street. Shef waggled his eyebrows at a gaggle of young women crossing the street. “Hey bebe! Want to come back to my restaurant? I have a blackbird pie you would DIE for! Literally!” Shef was not kidding at all.
Pedestrians stared, surprised, at the short, dirty man with clothes splattered with a mysterious green liquid. His tall white chef’s hat, called a toque, was also covered in neon green stains.
Suddenly, and without warning, Shef’s stomach rumbled with the intensity and frequency of a Richter 2 earthquake. Shef looked down and patted his monstrous gut. “Do not worry, Billy! I will retrieve you some delicious food!” Billy grumbled back a reply and stopped after that. Shef gazed around the main street, looking for restaurants that would meet his exquisite requirements of food. Finally, his tiny eyes landed on a golden arch, under which was a small restaurant. Shef booted up his thinking brain and tried to make out what the words on the arch read. “M-M-Mac— D-D-onolds?” He stuttered.
Shef rushed forward, pushing bystanders out of his way in a rush to get to his destination, McDonalds. In the parking lot, Shef noticed a large group of motorcycles parked near the entrance. Maybe he would take just a little bumper to use in his soup. As he pushed open the doors to the franchise, Shef was blasted in the face by a wave of cool air. He sighed and tightened his belt, which was under enormous strain. Shef waddled up to the cashier and waited in line behind a group of huge men with equally huge beards. Some wore bandanas, and the ones who didn’t have cloth covering their heads had spiky green and purple mohawks.
After five minutes, the line hadn’t moved a single inch. Shef was growing impatient. Billy was going to starve to death! Shef peered out of line, and saw that the line was about fifteen motorcycle gang members long. Shef grinned, and shoved the gang member directly in front of him. The man whipped around, his long beard trailing. “Watchu think you are, young man?!” He growled. “Hey Johnny, look at this wannbe!” The line of gang members turned to see what was breaking out. “Get ‘em, Bob!” shouted a couple.
Shef cackled like a goose again but was cut off immediately as Bob shoved Shef into a table behind him. Shef went clattering to the floor and grunted at the seat smashed him in the face. “Eh! You will pay for that!” Shef reached into his toque and whipped out a vial of neon blue liquid. He uncapped it and inhaled a whiff. Shef grinned and hurled the vial at the group. They watched in slow motion, as the vial smashed into the floor at their feet, annndddd-
Bob held his belly and laughed deeply. Suddenly, the floor erupted like a monster had been living under it. The motorcycle gang disappeared down the hole in the ground, and the floor closed like jaws. Shef grinned and moved up in line. “One Fish Fillet Sandwich, please!” Shef kindly asked the astonished cashier. “Sorry, we don’t have Fish Fillet Sandwich, but we do have a Fillet O Fish.” The cashier responded.
Shef growled. “I would like a Fish O Fillet, NOW!”
“Sorry, we don’t have Fish O Fillet, but we do have a Fillet O Fis-“ The cashier was cut off as Shef reached into his toque, yanked out another vial, and smashed it into the young boy’s face. He screamed as the liquid seeped into his skin, and his body dissolved. Shef’s stomach rumbled. “Well, Billy. Looks like we have the whole restaurant to ourselves!”
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