Dragons With Cancer

Today I woke up in the ball pit at McDonald's. That would be strange if I hadn't already done it three times before today. But today was no different. I did wake up in the ball pit at McDonald's for the past three days. So today was nothing. It was no different.

Three days ago, I was fired from my job teaching at a college because one of my students bet me that you don't cum when you get a prostate exam and it took me seven minutes to prove that dumb fucking kid wrong. It was hard to touch my own prostate, but ultimately, I was correct. I came onto the floor and onto the person in the desk up front. I said, "Kids, that is what is known as 'empirical evidence'."

Fired that day.

I came straight here for lunch.

I had the chicken nuggets.

To annoy the employee, when I ordered, I said, "Oh crap, what are those things, I really like them—uh, they're like chicken in little small pieces, almost nugget-like in shape and—"

"Chicken nuggets asshole—you want em'?"

I ate the chicken nuggets too quickly. They sat in a steaming lump only about halfway down my throat. I threw up in the bathroom. They were still very warm and still kind of smelled like chicken.

I stayed in the bathroom the rest of the day, sitting over my vomit. When I knew all the employees had left, I exited the bathroom and grabbed some food from underneath the heat lamps. I found the Ronald McDonald suit in the manager's office. It was then I knew that like Santa Claus and probably all my relatives, Ronald McDonald didn't actually exist.

I put the Ronald McDonald suit on and went to the ball pit with armfuls of food.

I ate and went to sleep.

I slept at the bottom of the ball pit where I found a loose sock and used it as a pillow. I thought about getting fired. I thought about not having money. I thought about not being able to pay for my apartment. Then I thought all of that was ok because I hated my apartment and sleeping in the ball pit seemed much nicer. I thought about not wanting to vomit up the food again, but I did. The vomit collected right in front of my face.

I turned over and put my head down on the sock. Instantly comforted. The smell of my vomit was noticeable, but it wasn't much different than the smell of a hamburger. I smiled and reached underneath my underwear band. I touched my prostate with my middle finger. I came all over a green plastic ball. I laughed and said, "I rule." And I was right.

Today I woke up to a kid jumping on my ear. He was jumping up and down saying, "Mmm-mmmm, I-love chic-ken nug-gets". His foot landed on my ear with each new syllable. When I was awake enough, somewhere during the third "nug," I grabbed his ankle and pulled him beneath the balls.

"Hello," I said.

"Hi," he said softly. There was a circle of dried snot in his left nostril.

"Yes, nice to meet you. Could you please stop jumping on my ear? I just got fired a few days ago and, I don't know—also I'm still kind of tired, so it's all really annoying. I don't mean to be an asshole or anything, but I swear to Ronald McDonald, I will kill you if you do it again. Even just one more time. That's how annoying it is. That much. I will make Ronald McDonald watch me kill you. Or, uh, if Ronald McDonald is busy at the time, I will tape the whole thing and show it to him. You know who Ronald McDonald is, right? Say something."

Then I noticed I was still wearing the Ronald McDonald suit.

He nodded immediately. A woman called out a name repeatedly from the dining area. He sort of looked up.

"No no," I said, "don't try to peek through the ball pit. We are here now, and you will answer my fucking question. So…do you know who Ronald McDonald is?"

He nodded again.

"You don't know who Ronald McDonald is, you little fucking liar. Why would you lie to me? Me, Ronald McDonald. Yes, I am Ronald McDonald. Oooh—you little shit."

I shook him. He seemed really scared. Scared enough to make the whole thing satisfying. I wiped some sweet and sour sauce off his lips and ate it.

"I know you just 'looove those chicken nuggets'—don't we all? Don't we just love those chicken fucking nuggets? But I love something a little more—and that would be not having my ear jumped on repeatedly. I am Ronald McDonald and you will fear me. I promise you will fear me."

He nodded and got back up. I stretched a little and went back to sleep.

The next day he jumped on my ear again. "I-love-those-."

I pulled him under. I pinched his mouth open and blew into it until his stomach burst. Wait, "burst" is inaccurate. It wasn't really an explosion. It sort of just split and released some warm, chicken-scented air. I ate some chicken nuggets from his burst stomach.

"I looove those Chicken McNuggets," I said.

I stood up in the ball pit and shook some of the balls off.

"Today is another day," I said, "and I will be my best self."

I nodded at the parents watching their kids play in the ball pit. I sat down at a table. There was a newspaper with coffee spilled on it. I slept for another two hours with my head in my arms, the newspaper over my head.

And woke to an old woman mopping.

"Hey, Janine," I said, squinting over my arms into the sun. "How are you today?"

"Oh, fine," she said. "How are you?"

Then I think my face broke. I looked outside and away from Janine. "Um, I don't feel that good."

I ignored her when she asked about the Ronald McDonald costume. And when she asked why I was crying.

I didn't get up today until well after the McDonald's closed. I ate somewhere around four or five fish sandwiches. Then I went to the bathroom and vomited. The pressure of the heaving made my eyes inflate painfully with blood. But I kept heaving. I washed my face off in the toilet in the next stall.

This is a good place to live, I thought. Very good. I will stay here. I have everything I need. I will be Ronald McDonald. And I will kill little kids. Because I am Ronald McDonald. And I need a job.

The door opened. In came the janitor wheeling the mop contraption. I hugged my knees as I sat on the floor of the bathroom stall. I felt the mop water soaking into my pants near my ass. I sat there whispering, "I have nothing but I am not ready to die, please please please, please I have nothing." The mop water made me cold.