Chapter 1

    I went into the McDonalds that morning, expecting to gobble down a double-helping of Egg McMuffin, when the most atrocious of atrocious of events occurred. For some odd reason, I was not able to receive any of my Egg McMuffins at all. I was fully prepared to pay, money out and everything, but the cashier boy kept insisting that he cannot fulfil my order. I found this to be a complete act of blasphemy, and I took action immediately.

    “Complete cobble wash my friend,” I said, this disregard of my order needs to be avenged at once!

    “Sir, we did all we could, but the burner is broken ok,” explained the pimple-faced giblet over the counter.

    “Broken oven is no excuse, you must do something at once! I don’t really care what you must do, but you must do it quickly. I am of grave danger of starving to death, and I need my Egg McMuffins!” I yelled.

    “Sir, you’re obviously exaggerating. If I you would just please take a seat, we’ll get the burner up and running, and you’ll get your order” uttered the boy.

    “If I wanted to wait, you ass of a boy, I would have made a damn breakfast for myself. You’re company strives on quick, quick, service. Do you think this would please your leader Ronald McDonald? His large clown shoes shall stamp away on you, and take your living breath away! But very well, I shall wait patiently, unlike these hyper-faced teenagers, shoving me from behind. “ I complained.

    So, I sit down, with no McMuffins to speak off. Money still in hand of course, as I had yet to have a chance to use it. Mother always told me, things like this are bound to happen when I came to America. She said “Lewis, those pesky Americans are such little horn-swoggles. They’re as disrespecting as they come, especially those ones of no parental supervision.” And now, I see mother was very much correct. My short visit here has certainly been unpleasant already. I hope such events as this, happen no longer. There’s only so much a man such as I can tolerate. Well, at least I’m dressed better than most of these poop-shoots. I’m wearing what your typical punk should wear. Leather Jacket with buttons of my favorite music groups, large metallic spikes protruding from my shoulders and even this new chain I had purchased just before leaving from home. Height of fashion, I was in. Hell, even my hair was far more grand than the common styles of these blunt heads; liberty spikes should always be considered the style of choice. Obviously, these Americans are far behind the hair-style evolutionary ladder. Now, as for my order, I’ve been waiting here for almost 3 full minutes, with no word on my Egg McMuffins. Those slags were certainly testing my patience. In my boredom, I decided to pull out the pack of fags I had in my front jacket pocket. I lit up with this Zippo lighter I had stolen from this ugly bum of a man I saw on the street as I left my hotel this morning.  Just as I was about to take a mighty puff, the little pimple-faced cashier boy got out from his station and began walking my direction.

    “Ah, so you’re here to let me know the status of my Egg McMuffins, no?” I voiced.

    “Actually no,” the boy said, “I’m hear to tell you that it’s against the law in the state of California to smoke inside any business or establishment. So please put out your cigarette, or I may have to ask you to leave.”

    “What form shenanigans is this?“ I bitched. “Why can’t a man choose to smoke on his free will? You Americans are too concerned with such petty things. I refuse to leave!”

    “Sir, you have left me no choice,” the boy uttered.

    Next thing I know my bottom was on the street outside. Blistered and red I’m sure, as those two large Hispanic men had thrown me up in the air at least a hundred kilometers before I hit the ground. Boy, did I ever land in a thump. Mother was right about these scoundrels. Why couldn’t we talk like dignified men, instead of them resorting to violence at my expense? This shall not be the last time they hear from Lewis Whyte! Those funny-hat wearing corn-cobblers shall receive thrashings I normally reserve only for my punching bag. The screams of pain and agony shall certainly be music to my ears indeed.