KMC Forums - Violent and hopefully amusing

This is a vaguely surreal little story about a Socialist rebellion in a fast food "restaraunt." It's probably breaking copyright law with the use of certain names and slogans, and the slogans will probably only make sense to Aussies, but still... comments are appreciated.

Crew Leader Reginald Fishnet thrust a third spork into his belt, and gave a predatory grin. He should be able to take anything those Socialist scum threw at him now.
Sadly, Crew Members Kenneth and Phil were far less confident than he. They had witnessed the death of many of their brethren during a fighting retreat from the freezer and the drive-thru booths. Kenneth was shaking uncontrollably and clutching at the blooded stump that was his elbow, and Phil was sobbing quietly. Not even the valiant death of Crew Trainer Forsythe had been enough to lift their spirits (he had vaulted over the counter, Reginald remembered, decapitating four rebels with a straw dispenser, all the while shrieking �Mac your day!� then pouring hot fat down another�s throat whilst yelling �how do you like THIS new taste menu?� He had gone down screaming in a hail of machine gun fire, the flower of youth mown by-)
Reginald shook his head. There would be time to mourn later. He had crew to save, and a store- no, a restaurant- no, an experience, a way of life, to protect.
This was a time for action.
There were screams. A rebel flag waved over the Kidz Party Zone, raising cheers. Mortars coughed and boomed in the distance.
Reginald came to a conclusion.
�Kenneth,� said Reginald.
�Yes,� moaned Kenneth miserably.
�Kenneth, I want you to have a look over the counter. See what those rebel scum are up to.�
Kenneth peered over the cash registers. There was a brief rattle of machine gun fire, and his badly perforated corpse slid down the wall.
Phil choked back a scream. Reginald knew the importance of rewarding good teamwork, however, and patted the corpse on the shoulder. There was a squelching sound.
�You�ve earned a Posthumous Employee of the Month Award for this,� he said absently. Phil just made gurgling noises, eyes bulging.
There was more gunfire. Three cash registers disintegrated as heavy-calibre weapons tore them apart. A cry of �surrender or die!� came from the Kiddie�s Play Area.
�You�ll never take us alive!� howled Reginald, slamming the OH&S folder over his head as shrapnel screamed and whirred.
�Fine by us!� came the response, followed by a whistling sound as something bulky arced over the counter and landed in Phil�s lap.
It was the severed head of the ceramic Ronald that had sat in the corner.
�Damnation!� exploded Reginald, smacking a fist into his palm. Phil started shrieking and gibbering, staggering backwards. He lurched to his feet, and, in his madness, prepared to bolt for the Exit.
Reg saw the red dot of a sniper scope appear momentarily on Phil�s temple. �Down!� he howled, but it was too late. Phil�s head burst like a dropped thickshake, spattering Reginald in nameless fluids.
As gunfire and the distant screams of crucified drive-thru operators filled the air, Reginald took out his notebook and a regulation HB pencil. He heaved a heavy sigh; blood had soaked his notebook, obscuring parts of the cover and transforming its no-nonsense title from �ANALYSIS FUNDAMENTALS HANDBOOK� to �ANAL IS FUN OK.� Reginald furrowed his brow, bit his tongue, and began itemising his current situation, pausing only to wipe eraser detritus or spatters of spinal fluid from the page:

SITUATION:
Most crew members dead, dying or deserted to Socialists.
Completely cut off from survivors.
Crew Trainer Steve Turgid lashed to ceiling fan and pelted with his own filth.
Sundae machine irreparably damaged.
Efficiency down approx. 7000%.
Memo: increase benefits of Employee of the Month scheme.

Reginald sighed again, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye (badly damaging a contact lens in the process.)
His restaurant had fallen.
The rebels were taking more ground, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
He had failed his crew, his restaurant and the noble principles of the McDonalds Corporation.
With shaking hands, he removed his Hi My Name Is REGINALD badge, unfolded the pin at the back, and prepared to commit honourable hari-kari.
He took a sip of McCafe McLatte to soothe his nerves, and cast his mind back to the serenity of the freezer, whirring contentedly like a sleeping Executive; or the deep-fryer, so much like life itself, with its hidden depths and power to transform. He pondered the ineffable mysteries of burger production- a grand cycle, endlessly repeated yet endlessly different- no two burgers had exactly the same amount of sauce or gherkin or saliva�
And then, with his mind still focussed on the infinite, he drove the pin on the back of his badge into his stomach, jerked it to the right, and then delivered the death blow by dragging it savagely upwards.
The pin snapped halfway so he had to finish the job by dunking his head in the deep-fryer, but when the rebels later found his bloodied and allegedly healthy corpse, even they were forced to admit that Crew Leader Reginald Fishnet had been a worthy foe.
His death was at once a sombre and joyous occasion. Rebel Leader Miguel Ramirez peered at the cooling body of his enemy, and sought words to express the relief that came from the demise of such an able- nay, brilliant- opponent:
�I�m lovin� it!�