Friday, April 17, 2009

I'm Ordering At McDonalds for my Eight Year-Old Son Dylan, Who is a Werewolf

Stand right here. Right here. Give me your hand.

And stop fidgeting, the moon isn't even completely full yet.

Yes thank you. Uh - I would like a numberrrr...6? With A Sprite?




No, medium is fine. Thanks.

Hmm, maybe - Dylan? Would you like an apple pie? I'm going to get two but I can only eat one. Think you'd eat that other pie, bud?

No, it's just apple and sugar and spices. They don't make one with pig's blood.

Well I'm sorry, you're the one who insisted on McDonalds. What kind of Happy Meal do you want?



There is no "Half Dead Bloodied Baby Lamb" Happy Meal, Dylan. Behave yourself.

No they don't have that, either. Stop it. Just tell me what you want: A cheeseburger or McNuggets?




Okay that's fine, after dinner - what do you want right now though?

Think about what they have at McDonalds, Dylan. You know this. Just tell me what you want from McDonalds for dinner.

Fine. My son won't be having anything AND he's not playing anymore X-Box until we have a talk with his father.

OH, SO NOW YOU KNOW WHA...STOP HOWLING! STOP IT THIS INSTANT! CUT....CUT IT! ENOUGH! DO YOU HEAR ME? ENOUGH!

I think that will be all for us, miss. This one here is starting to come a bit undone...

Dylan - I have to let your hand go to get into my purse. Can you be a good boy and not maul anyone for ten seconds?

Thank you.


How much do we owe you, Miss?

Okay one momen..
DYLAN!

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