In the last installment of Where in the World Is Mayor McCheese?, our favorite Mayor returned to the great yellow Arches, now tarnished from years of the oppressive McDonald rule to rekindle the romance with his lost love. The bad news: she’s now married to the clown himself. Will McCheese govern his way out of this greasy situation? All that and more on this week’s—
Birdie looked up in panic. “Shit, Tony,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
McCheese looked away from her, felt his eyes refocus and saw what was going on around him. They were in the attic Birdie had fashioned for her breakfast experiments and to escape from the brutal grasp of the man who she’d married for reasons McCheese still couldn’t fathom himself. He felt his patty go clammy, and looked about in panic.
“You two lovebirds coming down?” Ronald’s voice hollered at the foot of the attic. “We went big tonight.” Birdie slid out of McCheese’s arms and peeked down to her husband. Her voice shook, threatening to squawk.
“We—I was just showing Tony my lab up here! We’ll be down in just a moment.”
Ronald scoffed. “Funny, you never thought to show it to me. We talked about breakfast. It’s a thing of the past.”
Birdie sighed deeply, and signaled for her companion to climb down the ladder after her. McCheese scampered down and avoided the gaze of his nemesis as he walked by. Ronald was surprisingly cool to have caught them in such a moment, and locked the bedroom door tight as he guided the pair back toward the main dining hall.
“So, McCheese,” he said with a smile, gesturing for the sandwich-man to sit down at the gigantic, false wooden table. A series of large paper bags with cartoon characters printed along the side—admittedly most were Ronald himself, with a Birdie thrown in along a corner fold here and there. It reeked of artificial preservative, enough to make any man’s mouth water. McCheese hates this feeling, the desire to take a huge bite into his own kind. “What have you gotten up to since we last met?”
He made a sweeping gesture and the paper bags (seven, eight feet tall each) crumpled nothing, revealing glowing mountains of shiny, greasy food. The Nuggets were rippling from a fountain structures, plopping in and swimming out of sweet and sour sauce and barbeque alternately. The fries were fanned out like a gigantic sunflower, the burgers stacked in an enormous pyramid. McCheese couldn’t hide his admiration for the meal—it had been so long since he’d been so close to the grandeur of the palace, and even as changed as it was, the food remained the same. Just terrible, awful, delicious.
“I—well, you know, this and that,” he said distractedly, unable to take his eyes off the nugget fountain. “I made ends meet as best I could.” He reached out to catch a rogue nugget, but Ronald shook hs head. Birdie hat beside her husband and looked between the men, nervous. If McCheese had been paying closer attention he may have thought that she knew something he did not.
“No, no!” McDonald warned, as if reprimanding a child. McCheese composed himself and kept his hands on his lap. Where had that come from? “You’ll be served in a moment.”
Right on cue, the big purple lug who used to serve as McCheese’s right hand burst into the kitchen, complete with chef’s hat and holding several plastic trays. “Service has arrived!” he announced in a voice that echoed with enthusiasm, but was completely hollow. Grimace’s eyes watered when he met eyes with McCheese, and he couldn’t help but think of all that man of a sandwich had done for him. When he couldn’t afford grease to power his home, all his help during the sodium crisis of the late ‘70’s…
“Grim,” Ronald said delicately. He could see the emotion in his chef’s eyes, but wasn’t too concerned. If Grimace could slaughter everything it took to create this feast, then his simple commands wouldn’t cause too much upset. The purple, nugget-shaped creature nodded, and swept twenty nuggets from the fountain onto a plastic tray, sauces trailing behind like lazy cobwebs. Some apple slices for Birdie (Ron could care less about his own figure, but his wife’s was a different matter), a Big Mac with fries between each patty for himself.
“Very kind of you to invite me,” McCheese heard himself saying, not taking his eyes off his old fried Grimace. As Grim passed the sparse apple tray to Birdie, she couldn’t meet his eyes. She was acting so strange… “It’s so nice to see us all back together again. Well, sort of.” After Ron dug into his own burger, Grimace began dipping the vast pile of nuggets into a new sauce altogether. McCheese narrowed his eyes.
“Need any help with that, Grim?” he asked. Ron looked up, telling himself the operation would go off without a hitch.
“He’s fine!” the clown insisted. Grimace smiled shakily as he set the newly dipped pile of hot garbage in front of the Mayor. Ron looked on eagerly as McCheese raised a nugget to his face, and a single tear fell from Birdie’s beak. He inhaled—the smell of acid singed the hairs between his sesame seeds. Poison. He set the nugget down gingerly.
“I’m not that hungry, now that I think of it,” McCheese said, looking at McDonald. Ron waved at Grimace, shouting, “NOW!” Grimace suddenly lunged at McCheese, trying to stuff the nugget down his throat. Birdie squawked something terrible, and her wings took her two feet off the ground before she collapsed into tears.
McCheese spit with vehemence, and took a swing at the purple blob he had once called friend. He searched deep in the purple suspended pants it had been his custom to wear to reach for what he had almost forgotten to borrow from Officer Big Mac before leaving the police station that afternoon. Ron yelled from the sidelines, never one for true bravery. “Eat the nugget! Eat the goddamn nugget!”
The mayor struggled against Grimace, waiting for a fleeting chance to use the weapon he had right on his person. The purple monster was far too strong, and had pushed against the McCheese’s arms before long. He was growing weaker…weaker…
Boomp! Grimace’s eyes widened in surprise as Birdie’s clawed toes made contact with his face, and he fell to the ground. The bird-woman, in her pink dressed splendor, smiled triumphantly before flying out of the room, her husband chasing behind. “You do not disobey me, Birdie McDonald!” he screamed, running after her as fast as his ever-fattened legs could take him. He whipped his head back to McCheese for a single moment. “I’ll be back for you soon, Mr. Mayor!” He spit the last word as if he couldn’t believe Tony McCheese had ever been elected in the first place, and jogged his winded body out of the dining hall.
The sandwich man himself collapsed into the char he’d been sitting in just a few minutes before, and sighed deeply. Grimace was unconscious beside him, and the peppercorn dressing spray Mac had lent him sat unused in his pocket. If there was any time to escape, it was now—Birdie would understand when he talked to her later. If there is a later, his mind nagged.
But there was no time to be lost, and McCheese sprinted for the door, mulling over his terrible luck. Suddenly, his legs buckled. What was going on? He was slumped in the doorway, unable to move, and—there it was. The taste lingered in his mouth against all odds…the taste of a very strange sauce on a very unhealthy McNugget. Grim got me.
McCheese was in quite a pickle now.
In the next installment of Where in the World is Mayor McCheese, our fearless hero has a very nasty poison to fend off if he is to persevere through McDonaldland as in days of old! Will he exact revenge on the clown who nearly managed to expire him permanently? Will his old friend Grimace awake? Will Birdie kick any other unsuspecting victims? All this and more in the next installment!
Need to catch up? Here’s the saga so far: