Julienned
You wink at the camera and menacingly shoot finger guns at the lens, making sure to blow the smoke away from the barrels before stowing them safely back into their hip holsters. The hunchback man and his camera move away from you.
“Alrighty let’s get down to business here folks and introduce our fine contestants!” Phil walks over to the first of three identical counters, each with a contestant standing statuesque behind it, “Hello Sweetface, what do the folks at home call you?”
“Hi Burger Phil!” this skinny woman says giddily, “Actually, and I can’t believe this-” The woman snorts like a six-hundred pound pig. The deep and powerful noise does not match her physical appearance, maybe she is as fierce a chef as she is a snorter. “-but the people at home call me Sweetface! Everyone in my family always tells me my face is as sweet as a cinnamon bun! Especially when you add the frosting!” The woman giggles lightly and looks at Phil for some kind of positive reaction, she gets nothing.
“Whatever you say Sweetface!” Phil moves on to the next counter and a different camera, complete with its own gremlin-looking man hunched behind it, follows him, “Now what about you my big man, what name did your parents decide on for your birth certificate?”
“Well, uh, me and my, uh, parents don’t really get along too well,” responds the averagely sized bald man. His skin reflects the screaming studio lights right into your eyes, creating an almost visible and triangular path from the ceiling to his dome-piece to your corneas. This unbearable glare makes it impossible to make out any other features of his body.
“That’s not what I asked you sir,” says Phil, overflowing with adolescent attitude.
“Oh, yea, well, uh, my parents, uh, they called me, uh…” the shiny bald man scratches the top of his head to help him think better. His fingers cast huge lumbering shadows across the room. “Dang what did they name me again?” he whispers to himself, but the camera hears it too, “Oh yeah! They named me Pear! Cause I was supposed to be a twin but the other one died during the birth. Doctors said I was probably the one to make the cord wrap around his neck so tight, I mean it wasn’t on purpose though I jus-”
“Alrighty folks that seems like enough from this guy!” Phil takes a step back from Pear, “Let’s move on quickly now to our third and final contestant!” Burger Boisterous Phil walks up to your counter. You can see the faint wrinkles in his suit jacket, and the missing third-from-the-bottom button. As he takes one step closer to you, invading your personal space, your nose picks up a faint smell emanating from this man’s outfit. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be that one smell. “Now contestant, what’s the label you go by in your day to day life?” the smelly man asks you. You breathe through your nose to get another whiff: yes, it had to be.
« Go Back “Alrighty let’s get down to business here folks and introduce our fine contestants!” Phil walks over to the first of three identical counters, each with a contestant standing statuesque behind it, “Hello Sweetface, what do the folks at home call you?”
“Hi Burger Phil!” this skinny woman says giddily, “Actually, and I can’t believe this-” The woman snorts like a six-hundred pound pig. The deep and powerful noise does not match her physical appearance, maybe she is as fierce a chef as she is a snorter. “-but the people at home call me Sweetface! Everyone in my family always tells me my face is as sweet as a cinnamon bun! Especially when you add the frosting!” The woman giggles lightly and looks at Phil for some kind of positive reaction, she gets nothing.
“Whatever you say Sweetface!” Phil moves on to the next counter and a different camera, complete with its own gremlin-looking man hunched behind it, follows him, “Now what about you my big man, what name did your parents decide on for your birth certificate?”
“Well, uh, me and my, uh, parents don’t really get along too well,” responds the averagely sized bald man. His skin reflects the screaming studio lights right into your eyes, creating an almost visible and triangular path from the ceiling to his dome-piece to your corneas. This unbearable glare makes it impossible to make out any other features of his body.
“That’s not what I asked you sir,” says Phil, overflowing with adolescent attitude.
“Oh, yea, well, uh, my parents, uh, they called me, uh…” the shiny bald man scratches the top of his head to help him think better. His fingers cast huge lumbering shadows across the room. “Dang what did they name me again?” he whispers to himself, but the camera hears it too, “Oh yeah! They named me Pear! Cause I was supposed to be a twin but the other one died during the birth. Doctors said I was probably the one to make the cord wrap around his neck so tight, I mean it wasn’t on purpose though I jus-”
“Alrighty folks that seems like enough from this guy!” Phil takes a step back from Pear, “Let’s move on quickly now to our third and final contestant!” Burger Boisterous Phil walks up to your counter. You can see the faint wrinkles in his suit jacket, and the missing third-from-the-bottom button. As he takes one step closer to you, invading your personal space, your nose picks up a faint smell emanating from this man’s outfit. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be that one smell. “Now contestant, what’s the label you go by in your day to day life?” the smelly man asks you. You breathe through your nose to get another whiff: yes, it had to be.