Snippet #1691946

McDonald’s Mansion
Conference Room


The room was dark and packed full of mafia lords and henchmen of a wide variety. Second-hand smoke and the smell of grease permeated the chamber along with the cheesy stench of none other than Pizza the Hut. The fat bastard had a whole corner of the room to himself and his goons. If one didn’t think the boss was big enough, the eight-foot blob was still eating, munching on a gooey calzone as tomato sauce dripped between his sagging man-cleavage.

The man’s girth was shrouded in a white tank and flour-powdered apron. His grey sweat pants were snug about the bulging tires of fat that made up his legs as his massive hands continued to cram the half-moon pizza into his gob.

With cheeks swollen with bread, cheese, and sausage, he grunted, “Smells like a pig sty in here!”

The Dairy Queen stepped through the door to stop in the doorway. Her eyes fluttered and her nose curled in disgust.

“What is that god awful smell?” she asked. She then fanned her black-gloved hand before her face and weaved her way past the minions, ignoring the cat calls that afflicted her ears. Behind her in blue, pink, and white suits were her Blizzardmen. She brushed her fingers down her black dress before sliding her round rump into one of the black leather chairs that surrounded a burnished, oval office table.

With a vexed huff, she wheeled closer to it and crossed her slender arms beneath her swollen bosom. The Subway Boys were grinning, thankful to have sat across from the mistress for as she leaned forward to rest her aching back, her plump breasts swelled and her tight cleavage became more prominent. It was like gazing at cantaloupes in a grocery store. The white hints of lingerie framed them nicely from behind the deep V-collar of her dress. Her breasts were more appetizing to gander at than the ones of Huts, and they represented the second interpretation of her name: Dairy Queen.

Jade-green eyes gleamed from beneath her long, thick lashes as she regarded the drooling boys across from her. With a dismissive turn of her cheek, she sighed and queried, “Where’s that damn clown? Get this meeting over with already. I can’t stand to be here any longer.”

“What’s wrong Queen? Not cold enough for you,” the twins Ben and Jerry spoke in unison.

The conference room became so loud with roars, shouts, and laughter that no one could hear themselves. It was a chamber of deafening din that as soon as a large black man wearing a purple ski mask entered the room, instantly collapsed into silence.

To the right of a projector screen was a blue door with the golden, McDonald’s M on it. After Grimace had quietly stepped through the door, Birdie followed in her vibrant-pink get-up. All eyes were on the door that was left agape with anticipation. Ronald McDonald would be coming through that door soon—so they thought…

What they all hadn’t expected was for the man to suddenly rise at the head of the table with his arms extended.

“BOO!” the clown screamed.

His eyes then widened in terror when he saw men drawing their guns in startled reflex. A volley of fries, ice cream scoops, and pickles began flying toward him. Ronald and his two bodyguards took shelter behind the table as the barrage went on for a full one minute. When the last pickle had struck the back wall, the clown’s red afro first rose from behind the table, being the testing dummy for if the coast was clear, and then Ronald’s eyes followed, narrowed and glaring at the thugs.

Rising again with a deep frown, his expression instantly changed into one of amusement as he pointed across the room at the group.

“Ha, ha, ha! Scared~you~!” The Don teased in a sing-song voice.

Ronald then shot his arms into the air and swung his hips right and then left as two, large New York-style pizzas sliced into the projector screen behind him. The clown’s teeth were grit tensely in suspense as he gazed across the room at the smirking Pizza the Hut.

“Late aren’t we? I thought being on time was your kind of thing,” Ronald jested.

The joke excited a few chuckles from the group of cut-throats that made Ronald feel like he’s done his job. Lowering his arms, he grasped his red tie and straightened it.

Dairy Queen rested her cheek upon her palm as she regarded The Don with a sensual smile.

“Always the card, aren’t you McDonald?” she purred.

Ronald grinned devilishly and sent the queen a wink. “We love to see you smile, Baby. So…”

Putting all jokes aside, Ronald’s face became solemn with the seriousness that called for a meeting of several people he’d rather see blown out the water of business.

“I’m sure you all know why I’ve called you here…” he began.