Micky D's Vs. KFC

The old man jumped into the dented garbage can next to him, teleporting him to an alley across from an empty KFC restaurant. He quickly whipped out his gun and searched for his enemies with dark, bloodshot eyes. The alley was quiet and vacant. Old newspapers tumbled down the road in the wind as the clouds seemed to grow darker than ever before. It was dead silent in this area, wherever he was. The old man sighed, dropped his gun, and took a seat on the crumbling curb.

His previous attack left him famished. Luckily, he managed to save a bag of chips and a KFC crispy cesar salad. Pulling it out of the crinkly paper bag, he took a bite from the crunchy lettuce and smiled. He hadn't had anything to eat in what seemed like days. The man let the cool, ranch salad dressing drip onto his messy, gray beard without care.

Then he made his first mistake; he swallowed. And something must have heard him.

Suddenly, the wind picked up and sent his hair to the front of his face, making it nearly impossible for him to see. He felt his head strike against the brick wall as he was forced against it by the strong gust of air. He listened to the footsteps that were now heard coming from all directions. Muffled snickers and the crackling sound of paper bags sent shivers down the old man's spine. So this was how he was going to die.

"You're quite the sneaky one, eh Mr. Smithenburger? Obviously not good enough."

The wind stopped abruptly and dropped him to the ground. He stared at all of the bright red shoes that surrounded him, and into the eyes of at least a hundred McDonald's clowns. They glared with devilish eyes and pointed french fries, ready to attack. The biggest one stepped out of the crowd.

It was the boss...Ronald McDonald himself.

He spoke in a whisper. "What happened to you? You betrayed us."

Smithenburger was unable to reply, but it was the look in his eyes that gave him away, sending Ronald into a rage.

"You thought you could just leave us, Keith? Your old buddies since you were 16, 52 years ago? Just leave us for some healthier lifestyle? Well, you aren't leaving without a fight. And you know who's going to win." He began to laugh, sending the ground beneath Smithenburger shaking violently. The wind began to hit the old man, bringing him back against the wall. The army of clowns aimed their steamy fries at him. He was doomed, unable to escape this time. Ronald stepped back into the army, his face glowing behind his white face paint.

Smithenburger took a deep breath and thought about the first time he went to Mickie D's. The air was hot and greasy. The minute you walked in, you could feel yourself growing fatter by the second. The people there sat guiltily, chewing on their sloppily-made hamburgers without looking up at anybody. Dirty napkins and plastic forks lay everywhere. Then, he thought about the first time he snuck to KFC, only just a day ago. Everybody was friendly and giddy, munching on their fresh chicken wings and sipping a diet soda. When he sat down at that spotless table and took a bite out of his first KFC snacker filled with delicious, white meat and just a touch of mayo sauce, he knew it was time to say goodbye to McDonald. But it was either commitment or death.

A loud noise that sounded of heavy machinery broke Smithenburger out of his thoughts. The KFC that he previously saw was not there anymore. Instead, a robot shaped as a round tub of grilled -- not fried -- chicken stood in its place, hovering over the empty buildings and colony of clowns.

"Stop! Or I will turn you all into poultry with my new grilled -- not fried -- kentucky chicken laser beam!"

The army turned in astonishment to find the owner of this indimidating voice. The KFC robot took one look at Ronald and pointed his chicken beam directly at him, who cowered in the corner. "It's over, smiley."

Before Smithenburger could blink, a bright light erupted from the robot and shot at the evil clown. The clones took off in horror, screaming and running for their lives. Their leader had been turned into chicken.

KFC began shooting their grilled -- not fried -- chicken at all of the tiny clowns until each one lay lifeless on the pavement. Just like that, they all began to burn, giving off a fowl smell of rotten fast food. Finally, they were nothing but a burnt happy meal.

It was over at last.

Before anything else could hapen, Smithenburger sped off back to the garbage can to enjoy his partly eaten salad without any worry.