Chapter Two - The First Night - Part III (Writing as Don Lothario)"The way to a man's heart is through is stomach, and don't argue with me - your dinner's ready." - Annonymous adaptation to a traditional saying.
And with that, the phone went dead.
Poor kid, must have thought
I was calling for Don Loathrio. Obviously Cassandra didn't tell him about me. It was a
him right?! Oh God, I hope so, I can't carry on my legacy to a GIRL!
The idea burns me!
He sounded like a boy, that's good. But if it wasn't for the Dreamer Telephone details available publicly, I never would have even got that far. If only they'd put where they'd lived! I did well, though, to find out his phone number, now all I need to do is trace is back to the house because I am NOT going to trail round Pleasantivew looking for him. Hmm...let's see – Cassandra Goth .... Didn't move in with her, why was that? Not enough room? No ... No privacy? Wasn't that... Oh yes – because I was some cheating scumbag! Goth Mansion! How could I forget!? Alright, first thing tomorrow morning, I'll go over to the Goth Mansion and talk to ... my son. Or daughter. We'll see. Right now, I feel like nachos.
What?! No nachos? How can there NOT be nachos? It’s unhuman, it’s insane! Nachos is the base of civilization!
Alright, so maybe I over-react when I get cravings for greasy, oil filled, fat fried, cheese smothered baked cornflower triangles. But, alas, still doesn’t help my situation! There is only one thing to do – call that dumb maid Kathleen to come over here and make some. There was always something special about Kathleen – I can remember her as clearly as pie – and the pies she used to make! Twas a great cook, Kathleen, big boogs – blonde hair (until she dyed it black) and had an amazing figure. Well, until she had my kid Will that is. He’s still a tot - I think... Wouldn’t make a good heir. They moved out a while ago, round the trailer trash area of Brandi Broke and co. Ha – note to self: get hooked up with that Brandi – maybe she’ll replace Kathleen’s cooking. Need to get her to wear a sexy maid outfit, first, just like Kathleen. Or, was it Kaitlynn?
Hey - I tried to be a good dad - the miserable little bugger just threw up all over me afterwards. How was I ever meant to reveal my secret ways of lurve to a boy who couldn't hold down baby mush? See? That's why I desperatly need to contact Rossbert!
Anyway - back to nachos. And there's no Kathleen here to cook them for me. Why did she ever move out?! Ugh, looks like I’ll have to get of my lazy butt and go buy some - MYSELF! Torture - a man should never be put to this amount of labor. Women: they're just never understand!
Heyy - this ain't so bad! A cute cab driver!
“125 Hit Parade, please.” I said, stepping into the cab.
“You called a taxi for a ride two streets away?” she retorted.
“Shut up, the meters running.” I reply. Suddenly, chemistry bolts lit up and let's just say we took 'a litte detour'...
*****
"Ahem..." I said, loosening my tie, but grinning nonetheless. How many service sims was that? Six, now?
I can smell the nachos. Ooh - the perfectly fried cheese, the tangy salsa, the cool gauccamole dip. I approach the counter ready to order ALL the trimmings - this is going to be good!
"Welcome to Happy Burger, home of the Happy Burger - where your burger is Happy. How may I help you, sir?" The grey haired cashier recited in a bored, montonious and dull voice.
"I err...nachos? You do nachos here, right?"
"Happy Burger :grin: , Smiling Soda :grin: , Grinning Grill :grin: are trademark of the HaveAGoodDay brand. All names, logos and rights reserved." she stated. Obviously she was instructed to say that after anything I said, it was clear she was in some sort of miserable trance and that I best leave her to the professionals. Any 50-year-old working at "Happy Burger" without a smile obvious needed help. I backed away slowly and took a seat.
Usually, I hate these kinds of places, but really - you cannot get a Mr. Regular Joe or nachos or Burger SSX-treme from El Posho Cusuine. That's why I own Club Fresh. The hippest, most sparkling club on the planet! And it's not just me who thinks so - we've served over 150 happy customers, and they all come back for more! I once made out with three women backstage, and invited one back home after closing! Sweet! But, never saw her again. Strange.
I don't really try to remember her name, but I remember she loved cleaning - ah, could have been useful. But I was just getting a little bit of my RDA of relaxing done when I was interrupted - rather rudely - by some screaming, hyperactive kids.
I know, I know – me hating kids – I’ve had thirteen!! (But it’s OK, I hardly see them anyway) The local elementary and Daycare are flooded with children; how am I supposed to know which ones are mine?
Eventually, their pigtailed mother comes and settles them down. Annoyed my food hasn’t come by now, I get up, step over a few toddlers that managed to escape from their high chairs and march right over to the counter. I open my mouth to speak, but then turn around suddenly and find a disguisting toddler at my foot! Argh! Ew – no, it’s CHEWING my shoe! ONE of my shoes alone is worth more then his grubby little face.
“Err – good boy – sit?” I try, utterly repelled.
Finally, the mother – the same lady proud enough to have a screaming cop and a wounded robber for kids – comes over and shoots a quick glance at me, before picking him up, although to be honest – this grimy linoleum burger-emporium floor is probably cleaner then his stubby fingers.
“Sorry about him,” she apologizes, picking the brat up from the floor and then throwing him up in to the air. Whatever the logic in that is! Last time I tried, Langerak's kid barfed on my new shirt!
“Oh Don,” she smiles. “Hello – haven’t seen you recently.”
Holy mackerel. I recognised her!
*****
Any of you who have either played Pleasantview or avoided the hype about it, will know who I'm talking about!
