I woke up to the sound of depleted crying and deep fryers. It was consuming us. Soon, we would all be dead.
The sandwich glared at me ominously, with its two red eyes. I did not look away, for if I did it might move. "Help us, sir!" shouted the terrified waitress, but it was no avail. He was dead where he sat, his insides metaphorically baked by the oven which was fueling his own demise. I sat up, ordering a glass of Hi-C! (sponsor me), and drinking it, like nothing was going on. Truth be told, my boss fired me, and I wasn't going back. For all I know, we were being held in a McDonalds, crushed by a large sandwich.
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