"Adddddies addyyyssyyyijfs! Alfred's suuuuuure antsy about Adderal today!" the dog said. Into a Wal-Mart toilet, that is. Alfred was still getting used to working at Burger World, as well as working the puke out of his throat on his fifteen minute break. Being as poor as minimum wage, and spending all of it on hip Sonichu poarn, he ate at work a lot. This has been a horrible, horrible decision, for everyone involved.
While Alfred vomited, the line upfront in Burger World was being served by the two coworkers that found him in a toilet, that was in the middle of some ratty ass abandoned house that was found near their home earlier this month. The customers sounded kind of mad to the worn headset of poor ol' Alfie "Alfer" Daniels, sounding just like the great white JEWWWWW but Alfo Conye Gest ain't takin no ass shit up the ass, he's a dog so that is illegal.
"Hey, uhh huh huh, welcome to Burger World, may I take your wiener?" Butthead said to the blond wigger with the 70's mustache that looked kind of Korean. "Uuhuhuuhuhuhuh!"
"I came here for the food, not da doods! dDeeoouuud! ooooshiieet wuts takin' so long!" the wigga was feeling dissed, and probably not because of speedballin' like a fiend in the parking lot a minute ago. Suddenly, he ripped out some of his hair and threw it at Butthead's eyes!
"Would you like fries with that?" Beavis said to the wigger while Butthead was clawing the hair out of his eyes. Beavis was wearing pink cat ears at work, for some reason. "Eheheheheheheeheheh, get it Butthead?"
The dude was pissed. He ripped his shirt apart, showing off his Bachman-Turner Overdrive tattoo with the robot dragons breathing lightning on the band, who were all dressed as gay (read: 70's) hobbits as they were in the middle of metamorphing with the lightning, for the purposes of rocking the fuck out. All of which was covered up by his hairy ass chest. "THATS IT MANNN! YOU IS ALL SWINGIN' FOR DA WANG AND I AIN'T EATIN' AT NO MANG WAYNE WANG SHOP!" He was hyperventilating, staring at Beavis like a rabid taco salesman.
"They're curly fries." Beavis said.
The wigger's mustache fell off, he didn't care. "NO CURLY HOMO FRIES!" Then he ran away. Into the restroom.
After he did that, the manager of Burger World came out from the restroom, just a couple moments later. He looked sweaty. "What the hell is going on here, guys?" he said.
"Uhhhhhhhh," Butthead said, "I don't know."
"He wanted spaghetti, ehehe heheheh." Beavis said. Butthead was laughing because they were lying.
"Look, guys, you have to stop scaring away our customers," the manager said, putting his hands on his fatass hips, "It's clogging the toilets." He wagged his finger at them. Then he suddenly fell down. Beavis and Butthead looked down at him for a couple of seconds before he just stood back up and spasmed back down. "They do not tolerate defection." he said from the floor in a monotone voice as his arms folded behind his back and his hands dug into the lower spine with a few distinct snaps. Then he stood back up again, like nothing happened.
"Woah, that was cool!" Butthead said, amazed.
"Yeah!" said Beavis. "Again! Do it again!"
"Get back to work." the manager said to them as he walked away. Into the restroom. It was weird seeing him trying to open a door without his hands or kidneys, but he managed.
While Butthead served the by now dwindling amount of customers, Beavis manned the grill, in his own special way. He left Butthead to his duty as he laughed, thinking about doody, and also about that eyeless, skinned dog with the flayed jaw, spewing blood from its mouth and throat. He checked on what he was cooking up, laughing. The rat burgers were burning and most of the dead rats in question crapped themselves as they grilled. The curly fries were just the way fatties like 'em, being deep fried earth worms, and for today's special, deep fried butt nuggets and french flies. The Dr. Poo was, of course, a ready on the spot product, or rather, johnny on the spot. A Highland delicacy. "Damn, I'm smooth." Beavis said to himself as he rubbed his non-existent beard with his all too slimy hand.
Meanwhile, Alfred Alfer had finally finished vomiting and left the Wal-Mart restroom, avoiding eye contact with the creepy old man known as Mike, who waved while urinating in his stall as he left. He watched him vomit the entire time. Alfred was working the drive through today, and he knew what that means: Giving away repainted McDonalds toys and SCREAMING!
Mr. Anderson pulled up to the speaker. He waited a few moments after his order and nothing happened, not noticing the dog that passed behind his vehicle to get inside the building. After a few more moments, he sighed. "Those gat damn hooligans are always so slow..." He said through his teeth. But suddenly, the speaker starts blaring!
"HAAAAYYYYAAAAYYYASYSAAY! COME EAT ME MEATY, MEAT, MMEEAAAT!" Alfred exclaimed, which came out more as a screech from the speaker, in glorious, deafening, 16-bit BLAST PROCESSING!
"What the hell, you almost blew out my ears!" Mr. Anderson said, his ears still ringing, "What I want is a large fry, apple pie and a large coffee! Like I get up here every Thursday!"
"Won't youuuu have mmmmmeeeeeeeaaaaaAAT?!"
"Did I say I wanted meat? Can you not compre-hendo my language-o, buck-o?"
Alfred started giggling incessantly on his head mic, staring at a framed picture of Bill Clinton that hasn't been replaced since 1992, he was shaking hands with Dan Quayle.
'Why does that bastard get to touch Danny's lovely hand?' he thought to himself as a single tear rolled down his face, wrought by self pity and unrequited, pure love that warped to torturous hate in a heartbeat. 'To think that I would love every bit of this, if it didn't hurt so bad...'
Alfred shook his head and focused on his job. Now was not the time. Not now. "For our SPESHUL offer, we will give away a free drink for every purchase of a combo MEAAT made today!"
"All I want is my large fry, apple pie, and co-" The speaker started emitting hard static, cutting him off with.
"And please fix that speaker dammit!" Mr. Anderson yelled out. That shit was loud.
"Our 2.69$ quality meats are cooked in natural herbs and spices inside THE TOILETS. All our toilets are used for MEAAAT, THE MEAT IS NOT DISPOSED OF, if it is older than 15 years OR YOUR MONEY BACK! Buy five meats and you can FEAST UPON OUR ROTTEN MEAT!" Alfred said, he was starting to sound distorted over the speaker. "And we'll give away free, tenderized Tiger Mugs, for that lovely spouse back at home, for one night only I will GIVE IT TO THAT SHIT BITCH WHALE LIKE YOU NEVER HAVE, SHE'S BEEN MISSIN' IT!"
"THAT'S IT, if you can't do your job and bring me my food, I'll just have to eat elsewhere! Hope you all lose your jobs, you dumb giblethead bastards!" Mr. Anderson then floored it and drove away.
That bitch. Alfred wouldn't have cared about this normally, if it were not Meat Day. The day that demands great masses of meat to grace the mouths of the toilets, an orgy of meat must take place. It was for his own good, they told him. The toilets have claimed the manager as their avatar of the human world, and as the one that beheld this fate taking place in front of his own eyes, Alfred must do 'overtime' activities such as this, and serve the grave malice the toilets have for all life.
Innit a shame, Pickles?
Alfred started to feel that sick, quasi-constipated pressure that passes for hunger these days, so he went to the kitchen to grab something. Beavis was still there, watching shit burn.
"Hello!" Alfred said with a smile. Beavis didn't react. "Nice day to work, eeeehhhhhh?" Alfred moved closer. Beavis still didn't answer, he was too mesmerized by the fire. "Y'know, it feels like I'm just being used sometimes." Some of the rat burgers were on fire. Alfred saw that the fryers weren't on, and checked out what was inside.
The curly flies and butt nuggets looked done, but the ass cheeks haven't even saturated yet. "Oh, I'm sure you have your own personal demons," Alfred said as he started munching on curly fries. Beavis was awestruck by the flaming rats. To him, it was the miracle of life, burning all that sucked. It smelt like poop and burning rat fur, guts and poop. It was the sweet aroma of fiery death, given life by corporate fast food devils.
And people just like Beavis.
Alfred rambled on as he plops a blond hairy ass cheek or two on some burning rats, "I'm sure the thought of suicide crossed your mind, once or twice..." He went on about smacking the fires with seared cheeks, his paws were burning, it felt like-
"FFFFUUUUCCKKKKK AANNNNDD PPPIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"
"Oh hey ehehehe; how's it going?" Beavis said, now paying attention to Alfred. Kind of.
"IIII'MMM FFFUUUCCCKKKIIIN' BUUURRRNIINNGGG!" The cheeks in Alfred's paws had caught on fire. He beat the shit out of the 'food' on the grill; some of the times more literally than others, unbelievably. He wasn't the type to do this normally, but the Meat was malevolent in its haste to entice even more Meat to fill in the rest of the toilets. One of the few times that he could've just been, now charred by the unwilling slavery to the power of Meat, like his paws felt. He finished his work a minute later, 'mercifully', like they would say. They had a point, however; the others have it much, much worse.
Innit a shame, Alfred?
"Beavis, let's go to the bathroom for a second!" Alfred said, with a really fake looking smile. One that didn't believe a word that was coming out of his mouth. "I found some YOUTUBE POOP! WHERE THERE'S SMOKE, THEY PINCH BACK!"
"What?" Beavis said.
They walked to the restroom together. The song "Do It Again" by the Chemical Brothers was playing on the radio by this time, incidentally. Butthead watched them as they went inside, munching on a curly fry that he found on the floor earlier. He was still serving customers, which sucked. The curly fry had blond pubes glued to it. This combination somehow tasted like wet dog.
"Uuuuhhhhhhhhhhhuuhuh..." he uttered thoughtfully.
Once they stepped inside, Alfred locked the door. The stench was absolutely putrid inside. "What we are about to discuss is strictly confidential," Alfred said, "Nobody must ever know." Then he realized Beavis was eating something... familiar. "What is that, Beavis?"
Beavis laughed with his mouth full of it. "Eheeheheheeheheheh."
Alfred disregarded its wooden shaft. Or so he thought. He looked away from Beavis and checked out the restroom. The sinks were all broken, and blood was all over on the floors and walls throughout. The urinals were packed with mangled skin and flesh, and the urinals would try to flush it down periodically on their own, as Alfred found out. It was a slow process, however, and the juices and more brutalized meat often goes before the skins of people do. The toilet stalls were covered with skinned bodies of people nailed to the walls outside, mostly obese white men, a creature comfort for the toilets. Beavis thought this was cool. Like, really cool. Awesome, even. He went across the room, excited by the carnage and giggling like a white wuss from right here. The one spot near the back was a little more gory, with partially intact dismembered limbs casually strewn about, which Beavis helped by kicking a few arms and legs. "Woah, a porcupine!" Beavis said at the pile of bloody, mauled limbs that looked like Cher during happy hour to anybody else.
"Beavis," Alfred said, having regained his composure, as he walked towards him. "As you probably know, fast food has a Dictator." Beavis started laughing, as the wiener head does whenever he hears vaguely naughty sounding words. "This restaurant is unique, a cut above the rest. Burger World is the only restaurant in this country to survive fifteen consecutive lawsuits made in a matter of weeks, most of them being food quality and missing person related." Beavis was still laughing. "Ever wonder why?" Alfred said, leaning on the toilet stall door.
"Uhhhh, no." Beavis said, "Ever wonder what crawled up your butt this morning?" He said to the dog.
Alfred looked at him like he said that his mother sucks cocks in Hell. Which she does, every weekday.
"I mean, you're pretty cool and all, 'cuz you're like a dog that talks, but lately you've been an asswipe, and that sucks. Every time I try to go poop, you're in there hogging up all the urinals- eheheheh urine, and you say that the burgers are busy or something. So we use rats instead, heheh and the rats keep eating the burgers in here, with like, all the dead people," Beavis said to the dog, who completely ignored him. Alfred looked dead ahead, right at the popsicle. The unmistakable red, melty cherry flavour that he must forget, the Red 40 laced siren's call of death, of his innocence.
Alfred shook his head, trying to get the popsicle out of his mind. It was making him think of things. "Thing is, Beavis," he said, realizing what he really needs to talk about, cutting Beavis off while he was ranting about there not being enough dead celebrities in Michael Jackson's music videos, "this is only a small step for the meat to entice the world at large into slavery. And sodomy." Alfred said, emphasizing the sodomy to Beavis. "They will not stop until they have total control of this world's destiny, whatever the fuck that is. You need to quit this job, for your and Butthead's sake. I don't want the meat taking you two, you're the only friends I know."
"Uhhh, okay, work sucks heheheh. I'm taking something here, though, and it'll be a butt, heheheh, and I'll put another butt inside that, and then I'll put a butt, inside the butt, that's in the first butt-"
The manager, standing right behind them like a bipedal dinosaur with its hands inside its back, suddenly head butted Beavis from behind, knocking Beavis down on the bloody floor. "Hey hey hey hey hey what the hell's been taking so long?!" he said, eyes full of hate and already looking deceased within.
"Holy FUCK! Aren't you supposed to be hibernating right now?!" Alfred's eyes went wide in terror. How could he have been so stupid? He saw the manager go to this restroom just minutes ago! How could he'd have forgotten?
"If you have a problem with your job, then say it to my face, bitch!" Alfred faced the manager, knowing the jig is up and that time is precious. He needed to stall him before his obese, demonic figure crushes their skulls.
"Heheh, no sir we don't have a problem, that would impede the de-gore-ment of the stalls," Alfred said, as Beavis started getting back up, wary of the manager. The dog chuckled nervously.
"We're just shooting the breeze on our break, since we can't smoke cigarettes or go outside for more than five minutes without being mutilated by our tasty, beautiful meat. We love the meat more than Soulja Boy loves hot dogs, and you know he can't keep that under wraps forever. How is he gonna make the money that he needs in the long term, otherwise? After becoming a successful millionaire off of Teletubbies-themed samples with all the nigga-nigga Boss Crayola soundtracks that not even P Diddy can stand, and he's as black as Pill Cosby! Boy need to step up his game, that GamerGate girl titty gamer ain't gonna squeeze herself! Do you know how many green and purple striped bras that cocksucking, cat raping snit goes through in a DAY? Now that's a Quinnception I can live with! She's not even a year old and she fucked more dudes than a Canadian expat! Of course, she never believed me when I said the Young Democrats joined forces with Octopus operatives to kidnap black kids in a covert terror movement designed to inspire fear and loathing in the northeastern United States, not even when they came for her one night. Poor girl was never the same after that, and they weren't cute about their love bombing brainwashing, either. If you so much as mention the Godhead theory or the BP oil spill giving most of the fish in the world cancer, she shuts down completely, like she's back in their playhouse again. Like she never left. I know that spaced out, cautiously petrified smile of self destruction from anywhere, it comes with every order of curly fries. One time, I even saw her pee herself a little if you wink and then smile in the span of a split second. It's a conditioning previously only known to gods, and now Viacom has the rights to it. Won't be long now until they use what they learn from their sick little 'hands free' operations to make boys lactate before they turn three years old."
"Alfred, what in the hell are you talking about?" The manager said, before head butting Alfred in the chest, knocking him down with the force of the mighty ostrich. He stomps Alfred in the face right aftear that, screaming, "WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR FUCKING DEAL!?"
Alfred stared at the manager in shock; no matter how he saw it, he was in pain, and knew it was only going to get worse.
TO BE CONTINUED