Fast Food Fairy Tale, Part Eleven

Disclaimer: As the title implies, fast food will be involved (health food nuts, you have been warned!). Many restaurant franchises are personified as characters in this story; some are good guys and some are bad. If you happened to be employed by any of these chains, please know that your character’s role is not a reflection upon the quality of your employer. In short, this is just a silly little story that I have been writing for the amusement of friends-try not to take it too seriously…and please don’t sue me…

~Chapter 17: A Sailor’s Revenge~

At the precise moment that Colonel Sanders was revealing his shocking bit of plot-twisting information, Beauregard Sanders, that is, Popeye, was fuming. It was bad enough that pirates had destroyed his ship and his livelihood. Now they seemed to be overrunning Port Plees-Comagin. Worst of all, Sam and Ella’s was continually packed with the criminals. Popeye had listened to their talk and knew what was happening. Things were looking bad for the entire kingdom.

“Hey Squinty!”

Popeye tried to ignore the taunts of the pirates. He sat back in his chair, head down, large arms folded.

“How’s life, landlubber? Miss your ship?”

He chewed on the stem of his pipe, the agitation rising. He knew what he was capable of, the power he possessed. Still, once that power was unleashed, there would be no turning back. It would be all-out war.

“Hey,” one of the pirates said, turning to another who was seated next to him. “Ya ever hear him laugh?” The other nodded.

“Sounds like a seagull choking on a fish.” Both pirates guffawed and began making gagging noises that approximated Popeye’s own stuttering laugh.

At that, Popeye shot up. His pipe began to spin in his mouth, making an ominous whirring sound. He stretched out an arm toward the bar where Sam was watching with a stony expression.

“That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more!”

Without missing a beat, Sam reached below the bar, produced a can of spinach, and hurled it toward the irate sailor. In one fluid motion, Popeye caught the can in his outstretched hand, squeezed it until it popped open, and emptied the contents into his mouth. All the while, the pirates were laughing hysterically at Popeye’s antics. Little did they know what awaited them next.


“Well, you made a right mess of my bar,” Sam said sardonically, as he looked over the wreckage of broken furniture, scattered dishware, and a room full of unconscious pirates. Popeye grinned.

“Ya didn’t have ta give me the spinach…”

Sam sighed. “True. So now what’s yer plan?”

“Well,” replied Popeye after a moment’s thought, “I guess I needs me a ship.” Sam swept his hand across the bar.

“I don’t think these gents’ll be needin’ theirs for a while.”

Popeye let out a cackle, and moved toward the door. Though no one knew it, the war had begun.


Popeye spent the rest of the afternoon recruiting sailors. He had no shortage of volunteers. Every displaced seaman in the Port seemed keen on vengeance, and none more so than Captain Asiago, formerly of the Panera.

“That be the ship, Cap’n.” Popeye pointed to the harbored vessel that at the moment appeared to be minimally crewed. He and Asiago were hidden behind a stack of crates on the dock, directly opposite their target of surveillance. An hour had passed, and none of the pirates from the Sam and Ella’s had returned.
Asiago read the crudely painted lettering on the side of the ship.

“‘Crab Shack,’ he muttered, “What a ridiculous name.” He turned to Popeye. “Do you know who captains this ship?”

“Joe sometin’. I didn’t gets a last name,” the sailor replied. The only other thing that Popeye actually knew about the pirate captain was that he did a terrible impersonation of his laugh; seagull choking on a fish, indeed. Asiago nodded.

“Ahh…so that’s Joe’s ‘Crab Shack.’ I heard Silver gave him his own ship. He must be really scraping the chum bucket if he’s giving ships away to riff-raff like Joe.”

The two men withdrew from their hiding place and heading back to an abandoned restaurant (soon to reopen as a Little Caesar’s). There, Popeye’s other recruits waited for further instructions.

“I suppose,” said Asiago, “that now would be a good a time as any to take the ship.”

Popeye nodded.

“It’s almosk dark, so no ones can sees us load our secret weapons.”

“You know,” Asiago wondered as they stopped at the door of the restaurant, “it’s been a while since you knocked out those pirates. I’m surprised that they haven’t turned up yet.” Popeye grinned.

“If I knows Sam, they’ll be outta action for as long we needs.”


It wasn’t Sam, however, that kept the pirates out of action. Ella had returned home from visiting her sister shortly after the brawl. She was not pleased by the state of the bar.

“Lady, we ain’t maids,” complained one of the groggy pirates as he continued to sweep up the barroom. He flinched as a thoroughly enraged Ella pounded up to him, a broken chair leg waving menacingly in her fist.

“You ain’t pirates neither if one man managed to lay out your entire crew!”

“Now lookie here…” blurted Captain Joe, slamming down a bucket containing non-broken dishes. “I’m…” Ella swung around and pointing her chair leg at Joe’s face.

“You’re…what?” She hissed at him.

“I’m…” he caught the look of fire in the proprietress’ eyes and gulped, “…going to take these dishes into the kitchen.” Meekly, he took up the bucket and turned to go.

“Too right, you are!”

“Gentlemen,” Sam piped up from behind the bar, “Hell hath no fury like a…

“You shut up!” Ella rounded on him. “Keep cleaning, Sam!”

“Yes, dear,” Sam mumbled contritely. Popeye would owe him big for this one.

~Chapter 18: The Battle of Dryvthru Begins~

It was not the most ideal setting for a reunion, in the midst of drilling and weapon-wielding citizen-soldiers, but Wendy didn’t mind. She gave a happy shout when she spotted several familiar faces in the military camp.

“Mr. McDonald!” Wendy cried, running up to the farmer and giving him a large hug.

“Well, hello there, little Miss! I wondered when I’d be seeing you again.” The two were quickly joined by Big Mac and Jimmy John.

“Long time, no see, small fry,” Big Mac winked, ruffling her hair.

“And I’m Jimmy John,” blurted Jimmy John happily. Wendy laughed.

“Am I right in assumin’ that you had somethin’ to do with…all of this?” McDonald said, sweeping an arm over the busy scene around them.

“What? Do you mean the war?” said Wendy with mock innocence. It was McDonald’s turn to laugh.

“Lass, if there was one person capable of turning this entire kingdom on its head, it’s you!”

“So,” Big Mac chimed in. “What have you been up to lately? That is, besides declaring war…”

Wendy then shared with the men the adventures she had since leaving McDonald’s farm, what she and her friends discovered about Little Caesar’s plot, her escape from capture, and the plight of Baskin, Robin, Papa John, Arby, and possibly even Portillo and Sonic.

“Do you think they’re all right?” Wendy asked McDonald, concern etched deeply in her face. “Maybe…maybe I should have tried to rescue them. I don’t know if…what happens if they’re hurt, or…or worse.” Tears started to form at the corner of her eyes. “What if I did the wrong thing?” McDonald looked at the girl and marveled. Was this the same silly little red-head he had met a few days ago? The one who destroyed his kitchen trying to make, what did she call it, a Frosty? Though she was still quick with a smile and a joke, Wendy’s personality had taken on a more somber tone now. She has been through a great deal in just a short time, McDonald thought sadly. He knelt down and took her small hands in his large ones.

“Listen to me darlin,’” he spoke gently as tears began to course down Wendy’s cheeks. “You did exactly the right thing by comin’ here. You alerted the Prince in the nick of time, and now he’s alerted the King. They’ll be ready for the enemy when he comes. You might have saved the kingdom by what you did.”

“But my friends…”

“They’ll be safe,” Big Mac said quietly. “I’m certain of that.”

“They will?” Wendy asked as she wiped at her eyes.

“It’s not in Little Caesar’s best interest to harm them,” he replied. “He’ll need them for bargaining purposes.”

“Bargaining?” inquired Wendy.

“In case the war doesn’t turn out the way he hopes. It’s his Plan B.”

“Can…can we rescue them?”

“Can’t say for sure, love,” said McDonald, getting to his feet and giving Wendy a quick hug. “But believe me, if an opportunity arises, we’ll go after ‘em.”
Jimmy John who had been silently watching the conversation, timidly stepped forward and stretched out a hand to Wendy.

“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said solemnly. “I will help you find your friends.” With that, a smile broke out through Wendy’s tears. She took his hand and shook it.

“I know you will, Jimmy John. Thank you.” Jimmy John ducked his head and gave a small bucked-tooth grin. “Oh! That reminds me,” Wendy said brightly to the farmhand, “I need to introduce you to Colonel Sanders. He has some chickens that you’ll want to meet.”

“Chickens,” whispered Jimmy John in reverent delight.


“This is takin’ too long!” complained Portillo. Sonic gave a sympathetic grunt.

“Well, I, for one, am glad that you are not in charge of this operation,” In-and-Out said dryly as he dismounted from his horse. “You’d drive us all into the ground.”

The King’s army had stopped for a rest in a tree-lined meadow. They had been on the march since dawn.

“The war could be over before we even get there,” Portillo huffed, as he dropped to the ground from his gray mare.

“I think you overestimate our opponent,” yawned In-and Out as he stretched out on the ground and placed his hat over his face.

“And I think you underestimate your King,” said another voice. Portillo spun around to see the Burger King strolling toward him, unsmiling but with a twinkle in his eye.

“Your Highness,” Portillo said, sweeping off his hat. “I didn’t mean no disrespect…”

“You must remember, my overeager friend, that this is not my first campaign.” He stepped forward and patted Portillo’s shoulder. “Son, no one is more concerned about the welfare of Wendy than I. I have messengers coming to me regularly with reports on the enemy’s movements. If a battle were imminent, be assured, that I would not have the army flat on its back.”

A low snuffling noise was heard behind Portillo. He turned around to see that, even at the approach of the King, In-and-Out hadn’t stirred from his spot on the ground. He was fast asleep and snoring. The Burger King considered the prone figure.

“Hmm,” he mused. “It’s usually my speeches that put people to sleep. Apparently, my very presence is having the same effect.”


The Crab Shack, now piloted by Captain Asiago, sailed along the coastline, looking for the whereabouts of Long John Silver and the Red Lobster. Although there were other pirates about, Silver was the key. Defeat him, and the vermin that polluted the waters would be rudderless.

“Any signs of the rascals?” Popeye asked as he emerged from below deck where he had been keeping watch over the secret weapons.

“There’s been no report from the crow’s nest yet.” answered Asiago. He looked upward and called out: “Semolina! Any sightings?”

“No, sir,” came the reply from above.

“He may be harbored in Hardeeshire by now,” suggested the captain. “Silver is probably concentrating on the land battle. He won’t be expecting anything from the sea.”

“Ship sighted!” called Semolina. “It’s not the Lobster, but it’s definitely a pirate ship.”

“Perhaps,” said Asiago thoughtfully, “we can draw Silver out. Taking out a few of his cohorts will do the trick.”

Just then, a deckhand appeared from the lower deck.

“Popeye, sir,” he saluted. “They’ve all been fed as you instructed, and they’re…anxious.” Popeye rubbed his hands together in glee.

“Well, Cap’n, shouldsk we give our weapons a try?”

Asiago smiled as he looked out to sea. He almost felt sorry for the approaching pirates…then he thought about his sunken boat.

“I think now would be the perfect time.”

Popeye turned to the deckhand, a wicked grin creasing his weather-beaten face.

“Releask the chickens…”


Prince Carl’s army heard the enemy before they saw them. It started as a faint rhythmic growl. As it grew louder, the growling noise had morphed into an indistinct chanting. By the time the enemy had been spotted, the chanting was recognized as a single phrase, repeated over and over as they marched:




Forget about what? Wendy wondered. She had been with Prince Carl and Colonel Sanders in the command tent when they heard the approach of Jersey Mike’s forces. The three exited the tent to observe the coming enemy.

The Hardeeshire militia waited nervously in their ranks as row upon row of large men wearing black suits and sunglasses appeared over a rise at the opposite end of a field. Some were carrying baseball bats, while others were rubbing their brass knuckles menacingly. The monochromatic men came to a stop 100 yards from the Hardeeshire line. One of the men stepped from the ranks and walked forward several paces.

“Hey,” he shouted, “who’s in charge over dere?”

Prince Carl, now mounted on a horse, rode to the front of his own line.

“That would be me,” he said coolly. “And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” sneered the apparently nameless man. “All ya got to know is that I’m in command here.”

“No you ain’t,” shouted a man from the front line of suited men, “Jersey Mike’s da boss!”

The man in front whipped around angrily.

“Well he ain’t here, is he? So I guess dat makes me da boss.”

“Sez who?”

“Sez me,” shouted the man, pointing at his antagonist. “Now shut your face Tony, before I come over dere and shut it for ya!”

“You, and what army?” Tony shot back.

“Gentlemen,” interrupted Prince Carl. “Will this argument go on much longer? I’d like to start the battle while the sun is still up.”

“A’right, a’right,” the man in front said, turning back around to face the Prince. “Why ya in such a big hurry? What? Ya gotta ‘nother battle to go to or somethin’?”

“Of course,” continued Prince Carl, “we could just skip the fighting and negotiate your surrender now.”

The man laughed.

“A real funny guy, huh? Well, let’s put it to a vote…” He turned back to his troops.

“Hey! Dis funny guy sez we should surrender. Waddaya say, boys?

“Fuggetaboutit!” They shouted in unison. “Fuggetaboutit! Fuggetaboutit!”

The man turned to Prince Carl.

“No dice, pal.”

The Prince shrugged.

“Have it your way,” he replied. With that, he returned to the line. “Colonel Sanders,” Prince Carl called out. Colonel Sanders, also on a horse trotted forward, and swept off his hat.

“At your service, sir.”

“Colonel, I could use some Chick-Fil-A right about now.”

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