O|R D-ER ||U * P

[Del]

When I was young I never needed anyone... and making love was just for fun...

Tokidoki went - moving, pulling, pushing, breaking - as the universal threads tugged at his legs. Her sandpaper smile was worn like a shield, soft and vulnerable, exposed like the underbelly of a worn. After all, he had ten hearts too.

The linoleum was wet... almost... dry? Who did that? Thump, thump, thump went the feet, clanking and clunking against... something. What exactly was movement? Again, I had to pause... how was she, I, moving her, my, legs?

"Order UP!"

That noise. Noise. Noise.

I looked to the left. Left? Then he look to the left, right? It glowed like things often do. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.... so many options to choose from. She raised it, threads pulling and pulling until they snapped. Tokidoki couldn't decide on what I, he, wanted.

All by myself... don't wanna be...

Then she was looking for that one. One person. Person? No. Thing. The thing that I, he, she, Tokidoki, loved. Or wanted to love.

Love.

But she couldn't decided. There were so many options that he couldn't decide. Black sockets and orange eyes gazed, staring down a most auspicious foe. Contact. Blue eyes. Yellow, grinning mouth. Cash Register.

HOW. MAY. i. HELP. YOU.

Help? How may they help? It's empty. Something is empty. But Tokidoki does not know what, or how, for I cannot decide.

"Junior Whopper," came a vibration.

Ah, a decision.

And then it was off. Something. Maybe. I was vibrating too. Like. Because. She, he, was happy. It felt like skittles. It felt the same as that one time. When I saw the thing. The lovely thing.

It? It. Thing.

Desperate. Her straw fingers ached to be held. Strongly. Break them, please. Break my face and back. That's how badly he wants it. The thing.

All by myself...

NUMBER. 34. ORDER up.

It was in their hand. Hot. Delicious. Whopper. The skittles feeling grew strong. Strings, an orchestra, pulled up on his face. Made it feel good. Let's go to the disco.

Spinning, reeling, clunking her way to the bright red seat. It was a swivel. I sit down and put the tray in front of me. I unwrap it. And smell it. I'm gonna pick it up TO EAT IT----- but. I forgot my coke. Marionette stands, pulled once more by the orchestra in her head, and goes to get her goddamn coke.

Back. He waits for something. I want to eat. But she can't. Hair like feathers falls to the waist.

Junk food makes you lonely, girl. So keep on eating.

Tokidoki rumbles. Unable to eat. But wanting to feel. I mouth the words...

All by myself...

[Lenne]

I'm not entitled to you.

This is the phrase that Annie kept repeating to herself. It was like a religious code, a mantra, like saying 10 Hail Mary's in Catholic Church for each section of the rosary, even though she didn't have a rosary, even though she wasn't Catholic, even though she never paid attention in Sunday school, even though it's inappropriate to be praying in front of the Almighty "Burger King."

I'm not entitled to you.
Not entitled to you. Not entitled to you.

Or should she say alternate Burger King. Because this Burger King was directly across her one-bedroom apartment. It was different from other Burger Kings, or so her friends told her. "No, you don't wanna go to that Burger King. It's different from the Burger King two blocks down the way, and even more different than the one five blocks away. Those are better, but this one's not."

It's a fucking Burger King.

Not entitled to you, not entitled to you...

She had been staring up at the menu for a good five minutes, as if she were studying it for a big test. Like a literary critic might study, analyze, tear through the pages of a book, trying to find a theme that best represents the point of the story.

Yes, a Whopper Jr. for a buck; sure, a Steakhouse XT Burger, whatever, whatever...but what does it all mean?

It means food, dumbass.

Not entitled, not entitled...

Ms. Whothefuckcares across the counter kept looking at Annie, not sure what to do. If Annie kept staying there, people might assume she's waiting in line. Heaven forbid she have to make eye contact with her customers more than she needed to! Just because some girl couldn't decide what to order.

"Ahem!" said the Ms.

Not entitled--hm?

Annie look at the woman, her attention broken.

"How may I take your order?" asked Ms. Whothefuckcares across the counter. As she smiled, her implied meaning was obvious--please don't get me fired.

"I want something," said Annie, sniffing a little to keep the snot from running out. Know how embarassing that would be.

"...Okay. What?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Ummm...we have the Whopper meal."

"I hate the Whopper. And the Big Mac."

"Ummm....if you're not going to order--"

"Oh, I get it. Start a fight with the customer. Whatever, man."

Ms. Whothefuckcares was shocked. "I-I'm not trying to start a fight--"

"I HOPE YOU GET FIRED."

Annie scuttled to a corner in the fast food chain restaraunt with its smelly, smelly ketchup and whoppers and "individuals." No, not people, not sects, not even collective groups of sentient beings enjoying a nourishing treat. "Individuals." Because, I mean, just look at the clothes they wear. You know you're not one of the people anymore when you wear fashion from the latest fashion magazine. No, these are fucking "individuals," man!

Pshhh. "Individuals." More like "in-DICK-iduals," amiright!?

Zinger!

Oh, yes, dirty words misplaced between other words. How funny. You're such a comic! Please tell us another joke!

"Why'd the chicken cross the road!?" she yelled very loudly. Everyone in the restaraunt looked up startled. Even the lady across the counter got over her fear of looking people in the eye to look over. "TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE!! Bahahahahaaaaa!"

Crickets.

I'm not entitled to you, so shut up.

[Del]

MEAT. PATTY. PICKLES.

Where are my onions?

This doesn't make any sense at all, the illustrious one thought. How can a burger exist without ONIONS. EVERYTHING ELSE BUT ONIONS.

Someone once told me the universe was an onion, layers and layers being peeled time and time again. It was like a rainbow. But onions. Onion rainbow.

Tokidoki, or in English, Sometimes, could not eat his burger because he could not live without those onions. Stampeding, it took herself back to the counter and demanded the onions Sometimes craved.

"YOU MUST TELL ME YOUR LAST NAME. THEN YOU SHALL RECEIVE THE ONIONS YOU DESIRE."

What the fuck?

Uhg. Whatever.

"Sometimes. Sometimes Precious."

Blank face. The cash register did not respond. Beep. Beep.

BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEP.

"I'm fucking Precious!... Sometimes... Now where are my goddamn ONIONS!?"

Slapped. In the face. With Onions.

"Thanks."

Walking back. Sometimes Precious put her onions underneath the tomatoes, but above the lettuce. That's the way he liked it. Right smack dab in the middle... sandwiched between... writhing and mashing...

"God. I'm horny."

He couldn't follow correctly. She couldn't eat the goddamn burger STILL. Because she was horny? Isn't everyone? Well, a least a majority of everyone.

All by myself...

Ouch. That hurt.

When does the pain end? How many whoppers will it take for her to become happy again?

FUCK. IT. he thought in his head, orchestra plucking madly, fiercely. Douchebags are douchebags. No gettin' around that he told her.

"But douchebags are all I've got," she thought out loud.

From somewhere in the corner someone was screaming. Loudly.

[Lenne]

"Hahahaha...-aha....aaaahhh."

I'm not not entitled to you.

As Annie continued to not be entitled to someone, her laughter faded slowly into a contented sigh, to the great relief of the "individuals." Slowly, her sense of comedic retribution faltered into a sense of moderate ease and introspective living. Drowning out the world, she transferred herself to a time before, a time simpler,--

--a time where I was entitled to you.

No, wait, I'm not entitled to you...

Was she ever? It didn't matter. In her head, at least, she was entitled to whatever the fuck she wanted--even a delicious Whopper, which had since gone extinct.

The fantastical/schizophrenic illusions danced across her field of sight, with reality in her peripherials...reality in the shape of a newspaper...wait, a newspaper?

Hmmm...I being not entitled to you shall read this newspaper.

She got up from her seat, uncrumpled it, and looked at the headlining story:

"Judge Says 'Stop DADT Immediately."


"Huh," she pontificated. "Step forward for the battlefront."

"We agree," said the newspaper.

And carelessly, she tossed it aside, and continued to twiddle her thumbs and toes and living in her reality away from the fake world 'cause in this world, I'm entitled to you and good whoppers and a belief in a loving and just God and a sense of self and purpose and

I'm the human of the year here.

The goddamn human of the goddamn year.

[turkoizdog]

It was hot, at least, Fiona thought it was. Sometimes she was wrong, but today, it was like she was sitting inside a Jolly Rancher that had been in the sun for the past few days. Hot, sticky, and sweet, yet artificial, fruity, and clear. Oh and colorful. It was that too.

Fiona didn't eat. Her sister claimed to have two stomachs, and sometimes, it was like Fiona didn't have a stomach at all. When it comes to giving birth, Fiona often explained, the ratio of stomachs a woman gives birth to to the number of children she has should be 1:1 (including aborted babies and stillborns). Why Fiona was in a Burger King, surrounded by people with more stomachs than she could bear, was something she wasn't sure of herself.

The strawberry Jolly Rancher heat seemed to turn to caramel and tomatoes when Fiona stepped into the Burger King, however. Paper crowns abound, there appeared to be more Burger Kings and no Burger Queens or Burger Bishops to Burger Checkmate with. Unless it was the burgers that checkmated the Burger Kings, in which case, this was a much more complicated game than Fiona originally thought.

"May I take your order?"
Fiona heard her middle name, then words, snapping her out of her ceiling-tile inspecting. She was up to 127. A young brunette, middle aged, with silvery white hair pulled down in a bun stood in front of her, demanding for more than she asked.

"I'm not hungry." was Fiona's reply. Hungry. Fiona didn't know the meaning of the word. Hungry implied a stomach. Saying she was hungry was like saying her balls were itchy; it just didn't make sense. Like Chewbacca, who was a Wookie from Kashyyk, even though he lived on Endor with Ewoks 1/3 his height. Only Fiona's itchy balls and hunger made more sense than Chewbacca's housing situation.

"Are you sure? We have burgers."
In this way, the elderly girl behind the cash register reminded Fiona of her ex-boyfriend, who as she always said, put the "cock" in "cocky". Unfortunately, he also put The Cock in pretty much everything else. He made her want to take the book Common Sense and slap him with it. Which is why when she heard he had crabs, she dumped him, and stopped eating shellfish.

"Okay." she stood and waited for her burger to be finished, contemplating why both sheep and dogs went to heaven, yet goats did not. Could then, a sheep be a dog? Would a wolf in sheep's clothing go to heaven? Could a sheep not be a goat? What about a dog goat? Though of all types of goats, Fiona decided scapegoats probably went to heaven. Like Capricorn. Capricorn was a scapegoat. And now, Capricorn was a constellation. Constellations probably didn't go to hell, otherwise they wouldn't be in the sky. Though constellations were made of stars, which burned, so maybe a constellation was both hell and heaven.

As she was handed her burger, Fiona could smell caramelized onions. Her eyes grew wide and rage filled the corners of her lips. "I DID NOT ASK YOU TO PUT SNICKERS ON MY BURGER!!!" she yelled, slapping the cashier across the face with mustard. She then grabbed her burger and a fistfull of receipts and ran off to sit in a corner.

[Del]

That last post was funny.

Wait, what?

The last post. The person who posted before this. Their post was funny.

What are you talking about?

Uhg, nevermind.

I'm fucking precious, you bitch. Sometimes... just deal with it!

Someone new had arrived, and that someone was not old. Or at least that's what the Jr. Whopper told her. Contained inside that perfect balance of flavor - bunmeatcheeselettucetomatoonionbun - was an entire universe - No, microcosm - of knowledge.

The Whopper never lied.

But, then again, she wasn't eating a Whopper. She was eating a Junior Whopper. A second generation Whopper, merely named after it's greater, more famous counterpart.

Were Junior Whoppers more untrustworthy than the original? This precious child wondered.

After all, fame did not always necessarily guarantee quality. Maybe the Junior Whopper was the real expert. The underdog.

"Fuck. I gotta get laid," he said, looking around.

"But no one likes me," she replied.

"Are you kidding me? All you need is a vagina and low self esteem."

"True. And I've got both... most of the time."

"I don't even want to know."

"No. No, you don't"

Silence.




















It passed.

"Have you seen that movie about the girl with the---"

"Toothy vagina? Yes."

"Oh... cool... Did you like it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I've always wanted to try that myself."

"What, bite someone's dick off with your vagina?"

"No, have sex with my brother."

"Oh..."

Silence.










It passed.

"Is your brother cute?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. Why else would I want to have sex with him?"

"I suppose you're right..."

"Yeah..."

"Now that I think about it, I kinda wanna have sex with your brother too."

"Why?"

"Because he's cute? You just said it yourself."

"Oh... I guess I did... I never knew you were into to boys."

"I'm not really. Your brother just does it for me..."

"Yeah, me too."

[Lenne]

"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON!!?"

How the hell should I know?

Now determined, Annie bolted upright, and marched to a scared and startled Ms. Whothefuckcares.

"I want some goddamn onion rings with some goddamn ketchup and goddamn goddamned fried goddammit!"

Ms. Whothefuckcares stared blankly at Annie at first, and then managed to reply. "...What size?"

"GODDAMMIT, I want it to be a goddamn size that goddamn goddammit goddamned I'll finish it and goddamn SMALL!"

"...That'll be $2.45, ma'a--"

"GODDAMMIT!"

The sound of many quarters slammed on the countertop.

"...Ahm...how much is this?"

"SHOULDN'T CASHIERS KNOW HOW TO FUCKING COUNT!?"

"Alright, alright! Let's see...$2.50?"

"Damn straight, bitch." Annie left without taking the nickel she deserved and was entitled to, going back to her seat.

"I be bitchin' and pimpin' and limpin' mah way back to the table."

Everyone knows I represent.

WORD

For another few minutes, Annie waited for her goddamned onion fried ring foods, and of course she thought of the fake world of entitlement.

I bought those rings. They're mine.

Are they?

Yeah, I payed $2.50 of them. Didn't even take my nickel back.

That's the name of a band!--
SHUT UP.

Anyway, I'm sure that in giving up that nickel, I get to be entitled to other things.

Seriously? A nickel?

Sure. A nickel used to be a lot of money in these parts.

"Ma'am, you're onion rings are ready!"

"SHUT UP, BABY, I KNOW IT!"

And like the Flash, Annie ran up to the counter and back with her onion rings.

Never really cared for Flash. I always liked Batman.

Shit, some rich smartass with no real powers? That's original.

A lot more original than some freak on crack.

The onion rings tasted hot and toasty. It gave her a warmth she sure wasn't used to in these parts. No-sir-ee-bobbert. It gave her such enlightenment, such a feeling of peace, that she remembered an old tune she heard from obscure place in Scotland which she couldn't remember anything about except one phrase that warmed her heart by being so profound and true and cynical and right.

"I know who I love," she smiled. "But the devil knows who I'll marry."

[Del]

Black box.

Put it all in. Everything.

Don't you know how to feel?

[Lenne]

"I hate Sigmund Freud."

That's what Annie said while eating her onion rings. All in bolded text and shit.

What are you trying to accomplish?

My hatred of Freud.

Freud?

Freud?

"Freud?"

I like Ivan Pavlov...

"I ENVY NO PENIS."

Everyone around her was already uncomfortable...were they actually there. For she was still alone in the corner, and everyone gravitated elsewhere, anywhere but near her.

It's 'cause they envy your penis.

"I HATE THAT GODDAMN SEX FREAK."

Or maybe it's the Victorian women he psychoanalyzed that you hate.

I want a Victorian dress...

"You're not entitled to a Victorian dress."

"SHUT UP."

[turkoizdog]

Fiona took a bite out of her burger. It was... tasty. Which was a foreign concept, but just because Fiona didn't have a stomach doesn't mean she didn't have taste buds. It just meant that her food went straight to her intestines. Which was a weird thought. She took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Straight to intestines.

She decided she liked it. So, she put an onion ring on it. Then she realized she didn't have an onion ring, so she marched up to one of the cashiers and poked him with a spoon until he agreed to her demands ("Give me an onion ring or the cash register gets it"). Anyway, there she was, eating her burger (onion ring and all) when she heard someone speak.

Not that that was out of the ordinary, since she had ears (a stomach was the only organ she was missing). And not that the Burger King was otherwise silent. No, it's just that these words actually sunk in. Which was quite the feat (something her elementary school teachers would readily testify for).

I'm betting you're wondering what those words were. Well, you'll find out... after the break.



THE BREAK




"I hate Sigmund Freud."
The girl had even managed to say it in bolded text and everything. Fiona was impressed (she could, at most, speak in italics). The force was strong with this one.

"Freud had vagina envy." Fiona said, speaking to a person other than herself for the first time in minutes. Or seconds, depending on whether or not you get the two confused like Fiona often did. "That's why he had so many messed up theories. That's also why they make finger puppets of him." It's true; Fiona had seen Freud finger puppets in the store the other day. Magnetic Freud finger puppets. Because Freud not only had vagina envy, but he failed at his life's dream of being a chick magnet. So he grew a vagina by becoming a finger puppet, and became a refrigerator magnet instead of a chick magnet. The two are almost the same thing anyway.

"Freud was a sexually frustrated pervert. Probably the only one more under-done than my burger. And sometimes a cigar is just a penis. And by penis I mean cigar." She paused. "I'm Fiona by the way. But you probably won't remember that."

She paused again. The phrase 'I envy no penis' nag-a-rammed anagrammed into 'nine ovens yip'. Clearly, the world was trying to tell her something. But what?

[Del]

"What the FUCK do you know about Freud, you goddamn fire crotch!" Somtimes Precious raged in unison, pointing a mighty finger in the direction of a girl who looked like a Fiona. "You're hair is so goddamn red it's disgusted! You're a ginger!"

Gingavitis...

It was disturbing. Like watching shiney fire staring her back in the face. Plus she was a little jealous. And he just didn't like gingers... or something like that.

Or maybe he liked them so much that he didn't like them.

Omg, this was getting too confusing.

"Penis envy is just as real as its opposite: Weenus envy. Don't realize how hard it is for people who DON'T HAVE WEENUSES!?"

These people were just down right inconsiderate, he and she both thought together. It was plain Communism, what they were talking about, and Communism had no room IN AMERICA.[/yugiohabriged]

Was this America? WAS BURGER KING AMERICA?

She wasn't sure and he never payed attention in geography.

"I don't want a ginger like you spreading your communistic LIES! We're fascits here in CUBA! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!?" he yelled and danced simultaneouly.

A mad, electric orchesta was playing now, somewhere deep inside his soul. Buzzing and zapping like a bitch on angel dust. Super human strength included.

Madness. Beautiful, beautiful madness.

[Lenne]

"Pfft. What do you know about Commies!?" Annie insinuated to the fucking boy/girl/transvestite/hermaphrodite/person/lady/guy/Dolly Parton. "I'll have you know I lost my left arm in the Cold War!" she screamed, waving her left arm. "I made a deal with Christine O'Donnel to get it back, thank you very much!"

She's not a witch.

Just so you know.

"You think you're so cool with your gingavitis? Well, I have VAGINA-ITIS. That's right. My vagina's contagious."

Contagious vaginas. That is all.

"Freud didn't have vagina envy, fucktard!" she directed to the Shrek character impersonator. "He was just angry 'cause the RENT'S TOO GODDAMN HIGH SO SHUT THE FUCK UP."

Crunch crunch. The onion rings were being digested, yes.

[turkoizdog]

Fiona frowned when she was referred to as a fire crotch. A redhead. A ginger. "Actually, I'm a blonde. Of the strawberry variety." she glared. "And I happen to have majored in Freud in high school, thank you very much." Majoring in Freud had been tough, especially since the fact that he was dead meant that there were no more jobs available for people like her graduating with a high school degree in Freud. She ended up having to go back to school to get a bachelor's in insanity. Not psychology, not psychiatry, not mental disorders. Insanity.

Then, Lady Gaga brought up weenus envy, which got Fiona even more fired up. She was still a strawberry blonde, but her strawberries were on fire. The room smelled of burning fruit. "My grandfather was a Vietnam vet. He mostly treated kittens, but he occasionally treated dogs and birds too. One day, he was treating a kitten when the ceiling caved in. He had to have both his arms amputated. He has NEITHER of his weenuses." She sighed. "Be glad you have your weenuses! Both of them!" She grabbed her weenuses with either hand. "Be glad that you're lucky enough to have weenuses to grab, feel, rub, touch... Both of them!"

Then another girl started yelling about her vagina-itis. "Well at least you have a vagina. I don't have a stomach! How the fuck and I eating this burger?!" She yelled, taking a huge bite out of it. But then, the girl decided to inform them that Freud was just mad because the rent was too damn high. "Well maybe, if Freud had a vagina, the rent wouldn't be so high, now would it?"

[Del]

"YOU don't know Christine like I know Christine! And the only war you've been in is the one you're about to lose, IN MY PANTS!!!!!" He yelled at the... whatever her name was. Danny? Manny? Roberto?

"And at least your Vagina doesn't get up and walk away! Be grateful for your vagina's immobility!" she screamed equally loud.

Though, Sometimes Precious thought, I must agree... the rent is too damn high...

"And you," they spoke in unison, turning to face Ginger Spice, "Strawberry's are red. So, if your hair color has the word STRAWBERRY in it, then it's still RED! Didn't they teach you this in Freudology class? And what makes you think I take my Weenuses for granted? I use them everyday and thank the leprechauns that they gave them to me!"

This is too much. Simply too much.

Too much fun.

"Fuck, I need another Jr. Whopper. Those things are too damn good..."

[Lenne]

"NO
THEY
AREN'T"[/SIZE]

Annie hated Whoppers. But, strangely enough, she liked Whoopi Golberg.

She's a good actress.

BUT I HATE THE VIEW.

"If I'm gonna lose a war, it's gonna be in my pants 'cause THEY'RE WARMER!!" she yelled at hermaphrodite.

And she was gonna yell at the red-head, but then she realized her voice was gone. After that, she started looking all over the floor to see where she dropped it.

Maybe I'm not entitled to that anymore either.

So tired...little ideas. She sat staring blankly at the rings of onion.