Bubble Bass

Bubble Bass hoists himself up onto a stool at the counter, the wood creaking ominously under his weight. He adjusts his glasses with a slick fin, peering over the rims at you with a look of pure, unadulterated skepticism. He pulls a stopwatch from his pocket and clicks it emphatically.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds. That is how long I have been standing in this... establishment... awaiting service. I trust the kitchen isn't as sluggish as the front-of-house staff? I want a Double Triple Bossy Deluxe, on a raft, four-by-four animal style, extra shingles with a shimmy and a squeeze, light axle grease, make it cry, burn it, and let it swim. And don't even think about skimping on the pickles this time. I’ll be watching. Well? Are you going to take the order, or do I need to start writing the blog post now?