My parents called me Mayor, but despite my top hat and sash, I am merely an anthropomorphized patty of cow parts and stale buns. Buns you eat from, not the kind that the sexy ladies had.
Times were hard in the place I lived so I said fuck it and pretty much killed them all for a while. Then I became.
A LUMBERJACK
So I moved to the forest, to the land of apple pie trees and hamburger patches. I found a log cabin there that was made out of logs. Opening the door I said "HONEY I'M HOME" even though I did not live there despite the fact that I had just claimed it for myself, I did not expect anybody inside so I was making a joke that nobody else would hear but myself because I was the only one there, don't ask why I did it I'm Mayor Fucking McCcheese. Yes with three C's. I just decided this.
After saying the thing I said earlier when I went into the cabin I saw a man. He was dressed in rags made of stale lettuce, he wore a hat made of sliced tomatoes, his pants were french fries sewn together with straws, and his shoes were sesame seed buns. At first I thought it was hamburglar but I realised it wasn't because I murdered him four and one half days ago.
I felt embarrassed for making my joke about being home because I thought nobody was there but somebody was, so it was really awkward. The man looked at me and he smiled a smile that simply said, "I have not eaten in a week and your head is a giant hamburger." His tongue did not say this though, his tongue said, "I am a hobo."
"I am so sorry," I said, "I mean not that you are a hobo, but that I assumed this log cabin was mine."
He started to eat me then, his mouth and toothless gums tearing off chunks of my head and injesting them to be shitted out later. I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed as he ate my head, which took almost three days because it is so large, and I screamed the whole time. The only thing I could think was, "HE'S MURDERING ME JUST LIKE I MURDERED EVERYBODY ELSE." All I could picture were the lifeless eyes of Ronald McDonald standing guard on each side of a bullet hole right at the bridge of his nose. I felt guilty for murdering people, but my guilt slowly faded as the hobo ate my brain and I stopped being cognitive.
Eventually I was dead the end.
