So the other day I went to Burger King's sadistically timed farewell party. I assumed he wanted to meet at 6 AM because he had to get on a plane. He neglected to mention the plane in question would not leave for another 7 hours. So I am left to believe Burger King, in fact, hates humanity.

So I meet the gang (including several Phuseboxers whom I'd thought were only myths and I mean you, Ben Moser) at Cracker Barrel and we try to seat ourselves, only to raise the concern of the manager who redirects us to a more centrally located table, called the Mainland. Unfortunately, this table lacks enough seating for what would be a rather grand gathering. So Burger King, like every good monarch, creates a colony table, for all of the tardy purveyors of Cracker Barrel. The colony flourishes and is named New Nateburg. I was promoted to Prime Minister while Burger King ascended to Emperor. I promptly assigned Bean the position of Grand Vizier of Colonial Supervision and Exploitation. As Grand Vizier, it was Bean's job to wear a spiked helmet and grow a curly mustache, while plotting dastardly deeds unbeknownst to me or the Emperor. Sadly, Bean failed to grow an adequate mustache but succeeded in everything else.

Now onto the acutal meal. I was disheartened to find out there was no fried walrus to be found, so I ordered some pancakes and Burger King promptly steals my idea. As punishment, Burger King agreed to decide which of the artificial sweeteners was most delicious. The only judicious way for this to happen was if I pured 1-3 packages of the sweetner down his throat. After much gagging and coming to his death knell, Burger King came up with this analysis: "The yellow ones were the best, Equal was awful, and Sweet n' Low should be called 'Satan's Dandruff'."


After breakfast was served and eaten, war broke out between the Mainland and New Nateburg. And by war, I mean the Mainland pelted New Nateburg with biscuits, oranges, and some type of mush which defied gravity. New Nateburg panicked but retaliated by dropping a most heinous weapon at the Emperor- their collective check. Burger King (or should he be Burger Pauper?) barely had enough funds for his own meal, much less New Nateburg's, so he conceded and apologized to New Nateburg by chugging a cup of sludge, which he maintained was coffee. At this time, Sarah Moore shows up, albeit an hour late, and is stunned to find out Burger Pauper didn't mean 6 am Mountain Time.

Our merry caravan spends the next 30 minutes chatting and joking in the lobby of Cracker Barrel but flees once old people and Cracker Barrel staff start poking us. Our tribe, now nomadic, spends the next 10 minutes wandering the barren wastelands of Old Fort Parkway and, mere moments before succumbing to fatigue, our tribe miraculously finds a Starbucks. In Starbucks, no less than 8 tales, 13 stories, 3 epics, and one legend were shared within the remnants of the group (most by me, I was promptly promoted to "Bard" for my abilities). However, by 9 am, the group began to splinter. Batman went off to pose as a billionaire socialite by day and Sarah went off to do whatever it is she does.


In summary, it was a good time.