• The sound of screaming filled my ears as I quivered, basic maneuver: Class Potatoe 42, under my perfectly useless coffee table; made from bamboo and glass it would prove to do me little good if the battle found its way into my home.
    I stayed there for much of the day, praying for the little grease balls who fought for our freedom. Only when the last sob died away did I deem it safe to wander from my shelter. I opened the front door hoping against hope at what might lie on the other side of the thick oak panel.
    My eyes grew wide with horror as a gazed upon the ghastly scene before me. French fries and grease covered McDonald's bags littered the ground, a gruesome testament to a pointless battle. How many little french-fries had thrown their lives away, and to what point and purpose?
    The outlines of the little footprints were all that remained of the murderous wretches that had stormed through, destroying deep-fried lives, thoughtlessly. Those heartless creatures! How could people let this injustice stand? Value meals, trampled under their little padded feet. It was a crime against nature, and I knew at that moment what I must do.
    I flumped back into my living room; no time to pack... I had to act now, while their trail was fresh, before the scrubbers came and wiped away all signs of the battle, erasing the lives that had been lost permanently. I grabbed a handful of my belonging that I thought might be useful in the struggle I faced ahead. Now was the time to act, and I would be the one to lead the Value Meal revolution!
    I set out on the street; the scrubbers were in view already. How did they move so quickly? I was running out of time. I sprinted down the street, my arms laden with various items, a few bounced out onto the french-fry littered street. No time to stop and pick them up. Had to hurry.
    I could smell them now, and hear their battle cries. As I approached what I saw was more horrible than I could have imagined… Floppy eared puppies with grease covered maws, bloated bellies dragging on the ground, inhibiting their movement. And standing at the head of the gruesome heard, stood him. Seated on His huge sickeningly ornate thrown. Him, my mortal enemy, who had spilled brain juice on my poor dead mother many years ago. He would pay for the pain he had dealt on my life.
    The puppies turned their sluggish head to look at me and started up a clamor to get their bloated king’s attention. I retched as rolls of fat, dripping from his chin, poured out from under his hideous fuchsia trunk as he turned his giant head to look at me. He bugled loudly, signaling a charge, but I was ready for him. I took out a piece of chewing gum and aimed carefully. I hurled the mint flavored doom at his bulbous head and was rewarded with a clap of thunder, as the heavens themselves split open.
    Bubble wrap fell from the sky, burning the flesh of the puppies and their massive pink elephant king. I watched gleefully as they began to melt. Up from the pool of grease emerged pink prancing pansies which skipped into the sunset, singing Mary had a little lamb and sniffing for aftershave as they fled; never to be seen again. And the Value Meals and I danced into the dawn and continued to do so for some time after that, ‘til my poor dead mother, brain juice and all, called for my return home.
    I trudged into my grungy living room, complete with bamboo coffee table, and flopped onto our splorched green couch, stuffing oozing out its seams. And lo and behold! Who should be standing there, snogging the face off my dearly departed mother, but the mighty fat assed king himself!
    “No Mr. SaggyBottom. Not today!” I cried.
    I jumped up and brandished my Jelly bean in his general direction. That showed him, it did… He fled the country, went to Iranistan and became grand Pooba.
    And we lived out the rest of our days relatively happy and some what ever after.