(Gross restaurant product here)

If the Happy Spot Crew...

If Phil Photon ran a FAST FOOD restaurant: "Pizza Bunker" / "Panic Hut"
Customers would enter the building through a large, pane(pain)-glass door, but the glass would have already been shattered into millions of sharp edges, and the push-bar removed. A lemon-and-salt soaked towel would be provided for them to care for their cuts upon entry. Customers would then wait in seven parallel lines, served by a single register. Ocassionally, the line ropes would be rearranged to redirect the customers back to the beginning of their line, into the restroom, or into the meat locker. All major credit cards would be accepted (though never returned). To maximize profits, no selection on the juke box plays longer than 30 seconds, and for space efficiency, all songs are recorded in 4-bit, 5KHz mono. The playback unit is a Tandy 1000 hooked to several PC speakers spaced throughout the restaurant.

Decorations for the carefully balanced, single-leg table are modest; a single, red glass candleholder with a lit road flare, a waxed-paper tablecloth, and a roach motel. Table condiments consist of two sharp-edged, opaque seasoning-shakers, labeled "S" and "P" (these contain strychnine and Prozac, respectively.) 40-grit sandpaper is available as an all-purpose solution for napkins, coasters, tissues, and on the bathroom tissue/towel endless loop. (Customers are requested to use their own lightbulbs in the bathroom; lighting and flushing mechanisms are powered by the provided exercycle. Restrooms are monitored at all times by security personnel and several premium channels.) Chairs are available on request for a modest fee or an additional major credit card. If a high-chair is requested, the management will be happy to provide a large plastic takeout-bag stuffed with broken glass to prop up young children.

Five major beers are on tap; three of them are legal in Mexico, and one has recently been begrudgingly approved by the FDA for use as an industrial disinfectant. Waiters and waitresses dress in full body armor and carry large pieces of heavy weaponry to assist customers in analyzing their bills, and to speed up the ordering process by removing indecisive customers. Impatient customers demanding to know how soon their order will be ready are provided with a large box with a three-digit LED timer, and told that the countdown indicates the remaining time on their order. When the timer reaches zero, a free place will be available for a more cooperative customer and a new table.

Several meals are available: Pizza Du Jour, Deep Dish Pizza Du Jour, Cheese Crust Pizza Du Jour, and Sauce Pizza Du Jour, for those customers on a liquid diet. All pizzas are available in several sizes, and customers can request their total surface areas in either metric or english units (angstroms or furlongs squared). Scientific notation will be used when appropriate. The basic sizes are Fucking Huge, Ridiculously Large, Just The Wrong Size, and Subatomic. In addition, we are proud to introduce our new Personnel Panic Pizza, fresh from our main meat locker, where you can be sure that dozens of people have contributed to its construction.

Several desserts are available to choose from: Crabapple Pie, Seafood Suprise (with or without maple sauce), Turtle Doves (tortoises and canaries may be substituted during winter months), The Chocolate Pudding Joke, and Happy Crunchtm. Chocolate shakes are available during scheduled staff restroom breaks. At the end of each meal, the bill, and its accompanying doctoral thesis from a local accounting student will be cheerfully handed to the customer by our staff, to be filled out in triplicate using a blunt, dry, Magnum 44 permanent marker (green). Complaints about having already paid for the meal will be met with a threat to withhold the location of the nearest medical facility equipped with a stomach pump. (A waiting Rabbi will be happy to assist young customers in leaving a tip.)

Customers caught up in the endless, progressless frenzy of modern life will appreciate our new Drive Through lane, conveniently located between the salad bars. After picking up a meal, the vehicle proceeds outside and over several rows of armed Claymore land mines, after which your Drive is Through. "Take-out" food is also available: the customers call in an order, receive their food, and are then "taken-out" by armed guards. Consumer response cards are available, should a customer wish to fill them out; they are coated with LSD and impervious to all known forms of graphite and writing ink.

If Garote ran a restaurant: "Soup'r'Bowl"
There would be one dish offered, which comes in a big metal bowl. Waiters would hand customers a huge, complex menu (in kanji) which the people would self-consciously order something incomprehensible from. No matter what they pointed and stuttered at, they would be brought the metal bowl. In this metal bowl is the secret sauce. There is no silverware provided, only leather gloves and bibs. (Sometimes not even bibs) (Most of the time, actually)

You would not be allowed to leave the restaurant until you somehow disposed of the entire contents of the bowl. You could sling it at your friends or toss the bowl through a waiter, you could smear it on the walls or dance on it and use the bowl as a drum. You could go sauce wresstling. Awards would be given for people who ate the most of the meal, and those who escaped without getting through the whole meal would have a warrant issued for their arrest and execution.

Ahem. Ah yes, I must begin something. Okay.
If Zog ran a restaurant: "Evil Chow"
Upon entering the nice, happy establishment, a cheerful greeter girl wearing a frizzy 50's blue dress smiles at every customer individually and hands them a barf bag, then they proceed through another set of double doors and into the virtual pitch-black darkness of Zogdonald's. Many customers only make it this far, as the smell is so overwhelmingly abhorrent that they vomit out some precious organs and great quantities of blood, or faint from the thick fog of toxic gases and industrial-strength cleaners wafting through everything and sloughing off flesh. (EEEEeeeeewww!) The customers realize, all too late, that they are being made to carefully tiptoe across bladed partitions poking out of a big, deep pit in order to reach the ordering counter. The pit leads down to a river of liquid meat, tended by lots of cool short guys dressed up like devils running around and poking each other in the butt.

The counter is very, very tall and made of green marbly formica. Virtual clones of the happy chap who greets everyone at the entrance are smiling and picking the green scabs off their bodies. The orders are placed, then the customers are offered a spiffy little bonus -- They can duel to the death with the person who took their orders for 10% discount! Never mind the fact that the drones behind the counter are... CYBERNETIC ROBOTS FROM THE FUTURE! Uh oh, bad day...

As they wait for their food, the customers are offered the chance to rent oxygen-providing houseplants, practically essential to prevent "accidental" asphyxiation. While they sit on chairs stuffed with broken glass, speakers danging from the ceiling blast their ears with really sarchastic, fake "apologies" pertaining to the condition of the restaurant ("our air conditioning system stopped up with the flying dead BODY HAIR from all our FUCKING CUSTOMERS, blame YOURSELVES since you can't breathe, bwa ha ha!") which is mixed with ultra-low-frequency propoganda messages ("Socialism is the tuna. The frog king will dominate you. Eat now, never complain ever, ever again.") This is compounded by a side-show of people dressed up like clowns dancing around the waiting customers, beating each other upside the head with foamy orange cylinders (filled with quick-dry cement!) and occaisionally spraying the unsuspecting customers with fiberglass spray-on gel! Funny surprise! Hee hee! Kids love all of it, yes! MINE SURE DO, ANYWAY!

No barf bags escape the restaurant empty. Upon leaving, a motherly figure forces each customer to strip down at gunpoint, then she flogs them all with dead flamingos and demands to know how the meal was, are you healthy, marry someone boring, etc. If she manages to beat you into submission then it is assumed that the meal did not contribute to your health and well-being. Therefore, you are strapped to a wrack and... stretched until you're TALL! And BEEFY! Because only TALL, BEEFY people are HEALTHY!

The last phase of the dining experience involves sliding back down to the ground, twenty stories below the restaurant, which is suspended in mid-air on straws, did I mention this? No? Lots of people who traverse the slide think they see Jesus.


If Hoperift ran a restaurant: "Gulp'n'Dough"
Each customer, upon sitting down, would be engulfed in an enegy field that would instantly replenish the nutrients in each cell of the customer's body, while the customer is plunged into a virtual reality in which s/he/it lives an entire lifetime--and wakes up with an uncontrollable urge to send the entire amount of her/his/its bank accounts at the time of virtual death to a certain post office box in Dallas. The customer would sleep for fifteen minutes, before being awakened and sent away.

If Skot ran a restaurant: "The Penultimate Supper"
Each customer would be greeted at the door by a surly old man dressed in a robe with a long, flowing beard. This man, the maitre'd, would claim to be God. If you ask him for a table, he will pontificate at length about his holiness. If you tell him you have reservations, he will tell you to stop holding back, and give yourself up to him, ignoring your meaning.

Once you convince "god" to let you in, he will simply point to the darkness behind him towards the restaurant, and a spotlight will shine on the pathway, accompanied by a cheesy sounding soprano chorus warbling on one note.

"I have shown you the light," 'god' says to the customer. "now you must follow it yourself." So the customer follows his advice and walks into the main room of the restaurant and immediately is descended upon by three dozen men dressed up as Jesus suspended by fishwire from the ceiling to give the impression that they are floating through the air.

"Let me save you!" "No, let me!"

"Bastard!" one Jesus pushes the other Jesus with all his might. "I want to save him!"

"Fucker!" another Jesus responds to the pusher, pulling a knife out of his robes, cutting the fishwire of the pushing Jesus. The pushing Jesus falls to the floor and gasps from loss of breath. The cutting Jesus laughs. Finally, some Jesus in the back pipes up:

"Hey guys! You're blowing our image!"

The Jesii straighten up and recommence looking holy. The customer then selects a Jesus to wait upon him. The Waiting JesusTM then picks the customer up by the armpits and throws him across the room in the general direction of a chair and table. If there's two, then he grabs both.

The Waiting Jesus invariably misses.

All this while, cheesy ecclesiastical music is being warbled in the background by the soprano choir.

Once the customer has straightened himself (or herself) up, he begins to realize that he probably isn't going to get any food. Every time the customer snaps a Jesus over, Jesus tells him that he is in the "Fasting Only" room. Naturally, this is the only room in the restaurant.

There is plenty of entertainment, however. To accompany your religious fast are several musical revues, featuring Jesii doing the can can, Jesii singing lounge jazz, and Jesii doing standup comedy.

Every time the customer tries to get up, a Jesus floats over and pushes him back into his chair.


"Okay, Okay," the customer says, rubbing his shoulders. "You don't have to be so rough."

After the customer tries to leave several times, the Jesii decide at some point that it is time to bring out all the little Satans.

So a bell is sounded (this is about the time when the customers are getting really hungry and really angry) and dozens of little guys in red jumpsuits wearing plastic horns and greasepaint moustaches wielding really sharp sticks dance around the uncooperative customers, poking them back down into their seats. All these little guys are only about three feet tall, and boy are they annoying. They yell in artificially high pitched voices and throw ice cubes and food at the customers.

Finally, when a customer gets mad enough to start stomping on the little devil guys, God comes in from the front of the restaurant and gives the customers an ultimatum.

"You're not getting out until you either... become a Jesus (it doesn't matter if they are male or female) or go into the "myStErY RooooM".

Of course, the adventurous opt for the Mystery Rooom, while the playitsafers go for Jesus conversion. There's still a catch. If you become a Jesus, you still can't leave until you've "saved" a certain number of people, which would account for the multitudes trying to "save" the customers in the first place. Of course, once you're a Jesus, you can eat. But you have to create the food yourself.

The Mystery Rooooom is quite another matter, however. The customer can leave after a couple of days, but the customers regret their choice for quite a while... the Mystery Rooooom is really made up of several soundproof metal rooms, and the uncooperative customer is shuttled off into the next availiable room. The room is pitch dark, and all the customer can hear is a faint mechanical buzz. Then, suddenly, a machine strikes out, pulls down the customer's pants, and sodomizes her/him for several minutes with an electric probe. Then they are allowed to rest for a while. Then they are sodomized again. Then allowed to rest, then sodomized, etc. etc. etc. etc. for a couple of days. Then, at the end of their punishment (for not converting) two mechanical arms pull their pants back on, grasp them by the arms, haul them out of the room (don't ask me how), and plop them firmly on their ass on pavement outside.

"Have a nice day," Jesus happily reminds exiting customers.

If the Rev."Mr.DNA" Brad ran a restaurant: "Eat and Glow"
Customers would be greeted at every entrance by "RADIATION" "BIOHAZARD" and "CANCER HAZARD" signs, and be required to wear lab coats and eye protection at all times. The ordering counter would be unstaffed and orders placed with a fill-out HTML form on an X-term. They would never at any time see actual human staff. Customers may choose from a variety of dishes from around the world, specializing in the spicy and exotic, as well as selecting from a secondary menu of beneficial pharmeceutical and biological side effects. (Glows in the dark, changes your hair color, cures underarm odor, etc..)

While the customers are serenaded to Siouxsie, Devo, and strange jazz,"Chef" Brad would be splicing together the meals. Meals would be delivered through an airlock-style autoclave. Customers would receive a gourmet meal laced with undetectable custom engineered retrovirii that would propagate and alter the customer's genetic makeup for one to six months, depending on how well they tip.

If the Rev.Android ran a restaurant: "As Good as Mine"
The first thing you see upon entering is a sign that says "ALL PATRONS MUST BE CURRENTLY IN STYLE." Any customers that actually are currently in style would be politely beat over the head with a crankshaft from a 1930 model T until knocked cold. Their clothes would be removed and burned. They would be seated at a table and served when they came around. In front of them, on the table, would be a wyse 50 terminal with no power switch, and the screen blank, except for "TYPE ENTER" blinking at the top. If, within ten minutes, they didn't type out 'E-N-T-E-R', or they hit the 'RETURN' key more than 3,000 times, a picture of an H6800 chip (precursor to the 6502 and 68000 microprocessor chips) would appear on the screen. The question "what is this object best suited for?" is near the bottom, with five possible answers appearing beneath it; If they choose [A], then a pair of bellbottoms and a pocket protector pop out of a little chute next to them. If they choose [B], they are shot. If they choose [C], they get a cosmic string. If they choose [D], they get a H6800 chip to try it. If they choose [E], they move to the next question: A picture of a really annoyingly complex carburetor appears on the screen, and the question "what is this?" The answers: If anything other than [D] is chosen, they are shot.

If [D] is chosen, 3,000,000 zener diodes come out of a chute in the ceiling and land on them. If they survive, they are given a 20-pound hamburger with A-1 sauce and garlic all over it.

If they still have no clothes, they are given a black and white "Bob" shirt and black 50's Gaberdine slacks. They are handed a large knife on the way out, and are told to "KILL!!", as they walk past 13 monitors, each showing a different episode of "The Prisoner".

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