I'm Lovin' It

The Burger King sat in his throne, regarding his supplicants from behind tented fingers. The Clown, the Colonel, and the Noid were on bended knees at the base of the dias, heads bowed, waiting. The King noticed the Noid was twitching. He had always been the nervous sort. A light breeze came through the raised portcullis and brushed past the Noid's greasy, red flesh, sending a rotted fish odor towards the King. The King furrowed his brow, but his mask retained its shiny rictus.

"Stand."

They did, the Colonel bravely placing a hand on the Noid's head to help heave himself up. The Clown stared at the King, fingers curling into loose fists.

"Your Highness," he began, but the King raised his hand.

"Did I permit you to speak?"

The Clown's lips thinned,  but he remained silent. The King met his glare, held it for a beat, then gestured for him to proceed.

"Your Highness, we come here on behalf of Mayor McCheese. My sources tell me he is currently being held in your dungeon. We ask you for his release."

"No."

"Sounds good to me," the Noid squeaked out, beginning to turn. The Colonel, for some unfathomable reason, was still touching his head and gripped him to prevent this.

"May I ask why not?" The Clown kept his tone polite, but the King noted it was a struggle.

"Mayor McCheese was caught with his head stuck in one of my drive through windows, the one on West Central, kitty corner from one of your restaurants, Colonel."

"Be that as that may," said the Clown, "you have no right to hold him. Release him into my custody so we can begin proceedings in McDonaldland."

"I second that," said the Colonel. "Being as he was also within my jurisdiction I ask that he be extradited to McDonaldland." He gave the Noid a little shake.

"Thirded," the Noid said, eyes looking anywhere but the King.

The King snorted. "This is the fourth time this week one of the, uh, good people of McDonaldland have been caught breaching our pact. The Hamburgler has been spotted lurking about the rafters in several restaurants but has eluded capture. I don't even want to get into what Bernice has been doing to our dumpsters. I thought the publication of the Grimace Papers last season would help corral the creatures in your employ, Clown, but they have grown more bold."

The Clown stepped forward and spread his hands, beseeching. "Sire, they are innocent, capricious things. Mayor McCheese was undeniably brash in his attempt to purchase a Whopper® with cheese but the man can't help himself. Literally, he doesn't have the mental capacity to. I'm not even sure he has a brain. We have recently established a treatment facility for extreme cases like his. Please let me take him home so we may begin the healing process."

The King crossed his ankles and leaned back in his throne. A spray of gilt fries fanned above his head, radiant in the light filtering through the arrow slits. He closed his eyes and let the distant laughter, and occasional vomiting, of children mixed with the crackle of headsets wash over him. The decision had been made well before this unlikely trio banded together, and the King relished their anticipation.

"Mayor McCheese will spend the night in the dungeons. We will water him but, per the treaty, no morsel of our food shall pass his...lips. You may send one of yours to bring him a Happy Meal®, but I'm sure a few hours without food won't do the fellow lasting harm. On the morrow you may retrieve him."

"Thank you, Your Highness," the Clown said, bowing his head. The Colonel and the Noid, puppeted by the old man, followed suit. "You are dismissed. Clown, tarry a moment. Would you care to see McCheese? He is settled now but you may wish to soothe him."