Stop looking so creepily gay and come for me you bastard!

I want better priced pizza, thicker parmesan cheese at my table and I want the animatronics, WHICH ARE NOT REAL BY THE WAY, to look less creepy and more fluid when they are dancing to shitty Elvis knock offs. I wrote letters and picketed but it did nothing to get the issues resolved! So taking you three, the only employees at a kids restaurant at 9 a.m., should serve my purposes nicely! I plan to spend the day milling around your store, playing ski ball and making sure you have just enough fear not to rebel but not so much as to freak out and make the atmosphere uncomfortable.

I also plan to make empty threats and have the police force dedicate 200 armed local and states guardsman around this restaurant for one unarmed and crazy citizen. Naturally the press will be here around the clock with reporters reporting and helicopters coptering! I will freeze this small part of the state in fear and confusion as I demand gallon after gallon of Italian dressing be poured on a statue of Roger Clemens in the parking lot outside this franchised Chuck E Cheese restaurant. If you don’t….who am I kidding of course you won’t, but I will shout and bitch about it on government cell phone minutes attached to the nice motor razor you slide through the crack in the door!

5 hours into our intense mind battle I will still be fresh and clean having eaten some pizza and played with the prizes you normally would need tickets to get. But gentlemen, I won’t have any tickets and I WON’T CARE! I will continuously demand Chucky be brought to the location and negotiated with. You will tell me you are working on it and try to strike a deal with me to release a hostage or two. I will comically mistake hostage for sausage and I will toss sausage out the door (seeing as how there will be plenty of it in the kitchen). The hilarity of what I have done will touch the heart of the 22 year old hostage girl who happens to be smoking hot. Later on into the day we will mistakenly become locked in the costume room where I confess my darkest fears showing her that I am not a terrorist but a man who has simply lost his way and is trying to find it again. We will then have wicked awesome sex.

Holding her in my arms I tell her I love her and she tells me she loves me. We leave hand in hand and having found love I decide it’s time to end this silly feud. I will dunk some ski balls in gasoline and light them tossing them out the window. Everyone will scatter and my new love and I will gently sneak out the back of the building into a waiting Ferrari. But alas, the tale is not done so easily. As I approach the care someone parachutes into the back seat…Chucky himself. He unsheathes his kitana blade and I in turn unsheathe mine. We quietly head to the roof where we do battle as news copters and ground camera crews film the intense Mortal Kombat esque match….there will be a lot of flipping.

Just as the battle seems it cannot carry on any longer I manage to flip Chucky’s blade asunder and he lies there on his knees. I tell him I will give him a respectable soldier’s death, but I then surprise him by kicking him in the balls and stabbing him through the eye hole.

It starts to snow. I turn around and walk away from the giant pizza mouse’s corpse. I open my arms to hold my beloved (who has been watching in horror) and she rushes towards me, just then I hear a “thwap” and I feel a sharp pain in my back. I look down at my chest at a protruding tip of an arrow. Impaled I turn around to face my assailant, it is Chucky, on his knees where I left him, but now he’s holding a cross bow. I fall to my knees and look across the roof into Chucky’s eyes.

He’s smiling.

Funny thing is…so am I.

“Did you really think bitching and taking people hostage was ever going to make a difference? Chucky says as blood trickles from his mouth.

“No Mr. Cheese” I say. “But does anything we do really make a difference?”

That last thought resonates so deep and powerful that Chucky’s head explodes and I fall onto my face, my last conscious thought of how much snow it will take to cover my dead body from the camera flashes of the media down below.

And boobs, I am also thinking about boobs.

The End

This story is a tribute to Leeland Eisenberg, a complete doofus who recently took a campaign headquarters and it’s volunteers hostage to serve no other purpose but to embarrass his family and further prove that people with mustaches should never be trusted.