Warning Signs

I was starving.

Last night, as I wandered the city streets window shopping for new gizmos and gadgets to add to my collection, I decided that I would eat something bad for me. I don’t really know why I had a craving for bad food, but I’m sure you’ll all agree that when the desire for fatty, salty, horrible-for-your-body food strikes you, you must satisfy it or die in the attempt.

And man, was I ever Jonesin’ for a burger.

It just so happens that the street I was walking down had one of my favorite bad fast food places on it and, like a good little crave-fulfilling drone, I headed right to it. Upon entering the King McWendies, I was assaulted by the smell of fry grease and burger fat and my mouth went into drool overdrive. It had been months since my last King McWendies fix and after a full day of window shopping I couldn’t imagine a more fitting meal for my dinner than a big, fat, bacon cheeseburger, a side of fries and a swimming pool filled with the carbonated beverage of my choice.

It would be like having heaven in a greasy paper wrapper.

I quickly stepped up to the counter and placed my order. Moments later I was sitting down at a table with my food displayed before me like a mini-shrine to human consumption, the burger dripping with secret sauces, bacon fat and grease, the fries covered in salt and more grease and the humongous soda standing above the rest, tall and proud like an idol of Vessence the Goddess Of Carbonation.

It brought a single tear of joy to my eyes.

Carefully, almost reverently, I picked up my burger and took my first bite. Oh the meaty juiciness, the bacony deliciousness of the King McWendies bacon burger. It was everything I remembered, everything I had hoped. It was juicy, it was hot and it was…

Tangy?

Wait a minute. This wasn’t right! This was wrong! Horribly, horribly wrong! My burger shouldn’t taste tangy, like good-for-you orange juice. It should taste fresh and greasy, like something really bad for you. What the frick was going on here?

I took another bite just to make sure.

Hmmm… I could taste the meat itself, hot and juicy and bad for me. That seemed to be fine. What else was there? Hmmm… pickles, check. Lettuce, check. Onions, check. Cheese, check. Secret sauces and ketchup, check and check. Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything amiss with the ingredients in the burger, maybe I should visually inspect it for discrepancies…

And that’s when I saw the mold.

Not a tiny spot of mold, no. The entire bottom part of the bun was covered in green mold. Green, furry mold. To say I was taken aback by this discovery would be somewhat misleading since what I was actually feeling was more like amazingly disgusted rage.

Immediately followed by nearly overpowering nausea.

Knowing full well that the worker bees at King McWendies would be of no help whatsoever, and also knowing that there was no way I would be eating anything more from King McWendies… EVER… I decided that the best course of action was to quietly demand my money back, leave King McWendies and eat somewhere else.

Preferably someplace that didn’t serve bread.

After getting my money back I made my way to my favorite restaurant. A place where the owner knows me and the chef always gives me a little something extra for free. I ordered my favorite dish, took a sip of water and got ready to enjoy my meal. And then it hit me. Moldy bread? At King McWendies? Suddenly I knew it hadn’t been a random mistake, the moldy bread had been planted. Somebody wanted to send me a message… a message only I would comprehend. And following close on the heels of that revelation came the perpetrators name; Bread.

I began to sweat.

Taking another sip of water I tried to calm myself down. It couldn’t possibly be Bread, he was gone. History. He had left long ago and said he wouldn’t be coming back because I was far too lame for someone as cool as himself. He wasn’t back. He couldn’t be back. Could he?

I sweated even more.

Suddenly very thirsty, I lifted my water to my mouth for another sip. Glancing down I discovered a dead fly floating right below where my lips would have been on the glass had I tried to drink. Looking closer, I saw that there was a tiny knife stuck in the flies back and a note that read, “Hi Bub. See you soon.”

Holy crap, I’m a dead man.