Waffle Town

I was in my boss’s office the other day, delivering my latest of many great ideas… and things took a turn for the worse.
“You see sir,” I said, “There’s this town in the future. Let’s say 2010.”
My boss didn’t look pleased so far. I paused.
“No…” he said, “Keep going… keep going.
“Okay then…” I said, “Well, there’s this world where killing has become a new sport and people are able to re-spawn after they die. Reminiscent of Unreal Tournament. And in this world there are jetpacks and all kinds of shit like that. Then we have our hero who holds his entire school hostage.”
“I know how they feel already…” my boss mumbled.
I continued to spew, “And then he finds out he’s a vampire and then he has to learn how to play a card battle game to save his soul. You know how the kids take to card battle games now adays. Just look at the system I designed for it.”
My boss leaned back in his chair “Joe, Joe, Joe… You really want to know something? Thank you for this great idea. You know, the problem is… I have become more stupid just by sitting here and listening to you for these past few seconds. Why would anyone in their right mind write anything like that? I don’t like being stupid Joe! There are enough stupid people in the world already. They don’t need my help! You don’t need to make more! I can’t believe I actually pay you for this shit.” His pale face now resembled container of Heinz, so I decided then that I wasn’t wanted there at that time. I had to get to my second job anyway.
I shuffled slowly out the door and looked at his secretary; she was at work… chewing gum and wiping some white rements of her mouth.
“Looks like I’m not the only one the boss has to work on his people skills with. It didn’t go to good did it?” She said.
I looked at the carpet, “No… I just think I’ve lost it. There just isn’t anything interesting to write about.”
“You can write about my niece’s bat-mitzvah. Who knows what kind of kinky activities Jews can get into?”
I tried to get that last comment out of my head as I walked towards an elevator. Though one of the office window, I saw Doug, the dullard to end all dullards. I stepped up to the elevator and franticly pressed the button, praying that that jerk wouldn’t catch sight of me. But since God hates me, Doug rushed out of his office to great me. Damn it, do I hate God.
“Hey, so how about those grilled steak tacos.”
At this point, I had just about had it with people for the day.
“Doug,” I said, “I don’t mean to insult you. But you… are fucking retarded. It must be the Barney and shit they made you watch as a kid. Schoolhouse rock? Don’t know, all I know is I don’t wanna know what song in DDR you STG’d, I don’t want to know what you ate last night, and no, I didn’t watch ‘Real Sex 19’ yet… It’s on my Ti-Vo and I’ll get around to it when I’m good and ready! Now leave me alone!”
My elevator came and I stepped in.
“Are we still on for Starbucks tomorrow morning?” Doug said.
“You know we are.” I said, “Starbucks is neutral ground in most countries.”
The doors closed and cover Doug’s demoralized face.
I hopped into my old F-150 with 180,000 miles on it and drove out to the dessert. Believe it or not, that’s where my other job is.
About 60 miles outside the city is a rustic ol’ western town. Almost untouched on the outside, but equipped with all the latest technological advancements. Like plumbing and Commodore 64’s.
This is where the Breakfast peoples live in harmony, Pop Tarts with Toaster Strudels, Eggo with Aunt Jamimma, Bisquick with Betty Crocker. Hard to believe me, I know. But these aren’t the ones you find in grocer’s freezer. Waffles are really a good 6 feet tall and pretty strong at that. They’re also equipped with claws that can easily piece human flesh. That’s why they’re so much more expensive. They put up much more of a fight. Which is why I’ve equipped myself with a fine six shooter, hey, I still live in my mom’s basement. I can’t buy anything fancy… expect for my secondary weapon, a nice Viking broadsword. A little heavy on the handle, but it’ll do. I kept in a sheath on my back.
As I hopped out of my truck, everything was quiet. Which was the usual whenever a human came around.
One Waffle came out to great me, “Greetings Joe! How are things today?”
I smiled, “Shitty, how about your day?”
“It’s been good,” He said, “But you’d better watch your back. The French toast mafia is after you.”
“Everyone always is… I’m just that cool…” I said, “But I wouldn’t worry about those idiots anyway. All the French ever do is get conquered and not wear deodorant. Now excuse me, I have to go meet with Mansfield at the prison.”
Ah, good ol’ Mansfield. The biggest douchebag the world has ever seen. The only man I ever knew who could turn a prison into a mental health center. The only human in town, he wasn’t very well respected by anyone, and didn’t answer to anyone either.
I walked up to the prison and knocked on the door, no answer. Then I saw the hinges were off. I pulled out my six shooter and walked in carefully.
Mansfield was sitting in a chair shaped like a bowl and beckoned me over.
“Sorry about the door,” He said. I started fixing it, but then I got lazy. Some story with the duct tape on the floor.”
I surveyed the damage, “Whatever, I just came for this month’s load of prisoners.”
“Okay, the government still keeping it’s deal?” He asked?
“Yeah, as long as you provide us all with breakfast materials… you can stay here with these things that don’t want you dead.” I cleared my throat, “As long as there’s enough anyway.
Mansfield stood up, “Yeah, follow me.”
I followed him down a couple of stair flights and into a large room filled with huge cases, each having a various breakfast edible in it.
“Damn, what did all these things do?” I asked.
He snickered, “Most of them, nothing. They’re just so easy to catch.”
At the end of the rows of cages was a giant toaster.
“I see you’re eyeing this toaster, it feeds off the very souls the prisoners?”
“Really?
“No, it just sounded really cool. It really runs off a cold fusion generator. I bought it on e-Bay. I bought a space mission too. It was only 10 million dollars! But I haven’t heard any feedback since I sent my payment”
In case you were concerned I had stopped listening to this dumb-ass about ten seconds before. I observed each of the cages and tried the ignore the swears and crys of the tasty prisoners.
“So,” I said, “How do you work these no cages?”
“It’s all done by computer now… I considered not doing that because if Windows were to crash… well, we’d both be dead meat.
Mansfield walked over to his computer, “That will never happen because I have Windows XP, it NEVER crashes. It said so on the box.”
Just as he said that, a blue screen appeared on his computer. And all the cages slid open.
“I guess you should have bought an Apple…” I said.
Mansfield started typing in a panic.
An angered group of Waffles and Pancakes were headed our way.
“It’s my worst fear… Waffles are fighting back.” I said, “See ya.”
Mansfield grabbed my leg, “You’re not just gonna leave me here are you?”
“Hell yeah I’m leaving you here. People actually like me out the real world.”
I shot one waffle in sent it flying into a giant toaster. Screaming and kicking as it went in.
I ran to the door and locked it behind me. I looked through the window and saw them dismantling Mansfield and eating him. Just deserves I guess. They left has head intact though. Guess no one wanted what was up there.
I ran towards my truck. The prison had caught fire, and the attention of most of the town. As I got close to my car, I was thrown backwards by an explosion.
“My truck!” I said, “I just finished making the payments on that piece of shit! AUGH!”
Out of the smoke came an orange cat and a blue dog. Both of whom were donning Hawaiian shirts and cameras. And stranger yet, the Cat spoke.
“Dog! Get a picture of me with the angry black man! Wow! Who would’ve thought we’d run into a real black man out here in Waffle Town!”
“You guys don’t get out much do you?”
“Care Bears countdown, four, three, two, one!”
The cat stepped in front of the dog, “I’m sorry about my life partner here. He can only talk in song.”
“But that was normal speech…”
“He can only do lyrics to songs… watch.” He turned around, “Hey, what’s up dog.”
The dog stared at him “Yo V.I.P., let’s kick it.” Then started to whisper Ice Ice Baby to himself.
I stepped back “Did you two just get out of the asylum?”
The cat smiled “Yeah.”
“I was being sarcastic.” I said
“I wasn’t…”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, I was just lonely and went to the asylum one day. Next thing you know, they say I’m crazy. Can you believe that?”
“For some reason I can…” Now excuse me, I have to find another way out of this town. The Waffles are fighting back.”
I started to walk back into town, but the cat ran in front of me, “I’m Nacho by the way. And that’s Dog.”
Yes, they were Taco Bells defunct canine and feline spokesmen. He continued to bore me with his life story. It appears that they’ve spent the last few years of their happy marriage on Taco Island, a small island in the Pacific. But that’s all a story for another day. He agreed to give me a ride home once we got back to his car. We walked for a few minutes and realized it was getting dark.
“We’ll be asking for trouble if we try to travel around here at night. We should stop somewhere for the night.” I said.
We found a small hotel in the center of town. Apparently you got a woman (who was a waffle) too when you rented a room. I denied the hospitality and headed on home. But I left Nacho a pretty nice surprise that night.