Kenny & Death - "McDonald's"
Death's Monday had been rather tame, to say the least, as it was already four o'clock in the afternoon and not a single person had died yet. He supposed that was a good thing, but it made him an awfully bored creature. Just when he was considering having one of his rare talks with Satan—he preferred talking to God, honestly, but he was too lazy to travel all the way up to heaven—the familiar sound of a bell rang in his lobby.
"Oh, good," he croaked to himself, grabbing his cloak from the rack near the door. "All right, now, let me see…heaven or hell?"
The black-framed indicator he used for destination purposes read "hell," which didn't faze him, but the asterisk beside the word was what prompted him to groan. "Why does it matter where he goes? He's just going to come back the next day!"
Presently, a little slip of paper flew through the mail slot in the front door, which he picked up to read aloud. "'Unless you want him to stay with you for twelve hours, I suggest you just do it. Love, Satan.'"
"I could handle the boy easily!" Death was yelling at the floor now, which may have looked rather silly to the casual passerby, but, well, there wasn't much you could do when you were a walking skeleton in purgatory. A walking skeleton in purgatory that soon found himself eating his words, as it turned out.
Grumbling, he made his way to where a certain blond-haired teen would be waiting for him: A particularly greasy restaurant in the small mountain town of South Park.
"Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order, please?"
"Uh, yeah, I'll have the number two. Like, the food. I don't wanna shit in your restaurant, I promise."
The young woman at the counter rolled her eyes; Death would've done the same if he could.
He had just entered through the eatery's door and was already feeling like this was an extremely bad idea. Well, it was too late to back out now, so he shook his head, glanced down at his disguise—some kid he knew Kenny always hung out with—and ambled up to the boy with a sigh.
"Kyle!" Kenny had spotted him almost immediately, and the jovial tone he'd used in greeting hurt Death's ear cavities. "Hey, dude!"
"I'm not Kyle, I'm Death, and I'm only like this so I can get your ass out of here, kill you, and take your soul back to purgatory for twelve hours." The woman at the counter furrowed her eyebrows in a disturbed manner, and he added a sheepish, "Oh, uh, that's our code for…'hey, what's up?'"
Kenny snorted. "All right, Kyle. Could you at least let me get my damn McDonald's first?"
As if on cue, the bag of food arrived and Kenny took it with an amiable smile. He handed the cashier exact change—consisting entirely of dimes and nickels—leaving in bouts of laughter over the woman's annoyed expression.
"She put number two in my hand." Kenny, cracking up at this, shook the bag pointedly, and Death sighed what was quite possibly the longest sigh of his afterlife.
"Yeah. Well, come on, let's go."
"After you, Bones. After you."
"Why'm I in purgatory, anyway?" The words were spoken through a mouthful of food, and Death was horrified to see that ketchup was dripping from Kenny's chin onto his once-pristine white tablecloth. "I usually go straight to hell—or heaven, if I'm particularly good one day."
"Satan issued me a challenge, so now I have to babysit you."
They didn't speak for a while after that. Death simply watched Kenny eat, spill his drink on himself, and periodically insult Death's home for the next fifteen minutes before the trash was disposed of and the kid was running around the room touching any and every knickknack he could get his filthy hands on.
When asked what he was doing, he simply replied that he was "investigating" why Death was "such a boring-ass pile of bones that owned every piece of white furniture on the face of the earth."
The skeleton checked his watch. It had only been twenty minutes since this nuisance had arrived? Maybe Satan was right; perhaps the boy was quite difficult to handle.
"Hey, Bones! Boney! Boner! Bonerrrr."
"What the ever-loving fuck do you want, kid?"
"Why didn't you stay disguised as Kyle? That was pretty cool. Can you disguise yourself as other people, too?"
"That's gotta be the sweetest motherfuckin' power ever. Do it! Be…Stan!"
Death groaned, but he figured it would just be easier to appease the blonde than argue, so he racked his brain to remember which one "Stan" was and did his best to imitate that form.
"Whoaaa, dude. That's dead on! …Dead on. Heh."
"For the love of… How old are you?"
"Heyyy, you sound like Stan, too. I'm fifteen!"
"You act like you're six."
"I don't, usually. I just had a lot of coffee this morning, 'cause I stayed at Butters' house and his mom gave me coffee, and it was, like, really good coffee, too, like the expensive kind from Hawaii or whatever, 'cause he and his family are from there and they go every—"
"Please shut up."
"Rude, man. Anyway, do me next!"
He didn't know why he even obliged, but, once again, he changed his form, mimicking the one before him, ketchup and Coke stains included.
"Wicked awesome. Say something. I always wanted to hear what my voice sounds like to other people."
"I'm Kenny. I'm an annoying piece of shit that needs to shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down."
There was a brief moment of silence, and then Kenny burst into a fit of loud, obnoxious laughter. "O-oh my God, that—fuck, man. That was great."
Despite everything, the skeleton had to smile at this. Kenny was very easily amused...
The smile disappeared a moment later, however, for the aforementioned teen was now standing (in those dusty boots!) on the sofa, poised to begin jumping.
Death checked his watch once more. Twenty-five minutes… Only eleven hours and thirty-five minutes to go. With a resigned moan, he thumped his head on the table.
He'd learned his lesson: Never challenge Satan to a game of patience, unless you want McDonald's ketchup to be smeared on everything you own.