When the medical bracelet was finally removed from his ghastly swollen limb, Donald knew he was the cause of the poor man's death. The bracelet read: DISLIKES LONG CAR TRIPS, EXTREMELY ALLERGIC TO MAYONNAISE, SOMEWHAT ALLERGIC TO VINEGAR. He remembers the cashier repeating the phrase, "I told you, no mayonnaise!" He'd fucked up.

"GROUNDBREAKING CEREMONIES WERE HELD TODAY FOR THE GRAND CENTRAL MALL PROJECT. MAYOR BENNETT WAS ON HAND, AS WERE MOST CITY COUNCIL MEMBERS. GRAND CENTRAL MALL IS SCHEDULED TO OPEN IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS AND WILL COST AN ESTIMATED ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS..."

Donald was sleeping very little. His plans were surprisingly good, but he couldn't help but feel something was wrong. He was constantly dogged by the image of "Mayo Man," and his co-workers were all so professional and talented. Why was he one of them?

Donald's wife was growing increasingly irritated. Each night she listened to him repeat himself, over and over. When she finally blew up Donald began to cry and scream, "Don't leave me!"  He was at the end of his rope and his hands were greasy.

Donald finalized his plans and at his wife's urging checked into a clinic. There he spent his days sipping pineapple juice and repeating to a beautiful woman, "I am good. I am competent." She seemed to believe him. In three weeks time he believed it too. He checked out, paid his three thousand dollars, and went home.

His boss congratulated him on the fine job he had done and took him to dinner. Everything was going as planned and the mall was right on schedule. Donald had weathered the storm, kicked fear's ass. Just like John Wayne.

Donald's home life improved similarly. His wife broke up with her lover and focused all her attention on Donald. He became so Herculean in the bedroom that she swore she heard Jim McKay's voice during orgasm.

On a whim Donald returned to the burger joint and ordered a double cheeseburger with extra mayonnaise, then ate it slowly. For Donald this was the final triumph. His demons were completely exorcised. He felt great!

"THE GRAND CENTRAL MALL'S OPENING WAS MARRED BY TRAGEDY TODAY AS SEVERAL HUNDRED SHOPPERS WERE CRUSHED TO DEATH IN A BIZARRE ACCIDENT. THE MALL'S MAIN ESCALATOR, IN AN AMAZING OVERSIGHT, LED NOWHERE. SHOPPERS, BELIEVING THEY WERE BEING WHISKED TO A LOWER LEVEL, WERE IN FACT BEING LED TO A SMALL ROOM WITH NO WINDOWS OR DOORS. SHOPPERS WERE TRAPPED INSIDE AS THE ROOM BECAME MORE AND MORE CROWDED. EVENTUALLY 263 DIED OF SUFFOCATION BEFORE SOMEBODY HEARD THE SCREAMS AND ROPED OFF THE ESCALATOR. GRAND CENTRAL MALL COST ONE HUNDRED TWENTY MILLION DOLLARS..." 

Donald fucked up.

Gonna Raise Hell

Jerry Hill didn't like girls. It was becoming increasingly apparent. His friends were beginning to talk and his parents were beginning to wonder. Puberty had passed and nothing had changed, except he could no longer see the mole above his "willie." 

The folks tried not to think about it but the friends were already considering the "flamer" possibility. But the puzzling aspect was that Jerry didn't show much interest in guys either. In fact the only time anybody ever saw Jerry aroused was at school football games. "Look at that crowd," he would mumble in a daze. Sometimes he would literally pant with passion. Jerry often sat alone at these events

Jerry Hill was a very intelligent person, especially at math. He wasn't exactly athletic, but no slouch either. He had a lot of friends as he grew up, but as he grew older and his behavior became more and more unusual, the friends seemed to disappear. Mr. and Mrs. Hill were justifiably alarmed. They attempted, on several occasions, to sit him down and talk with him. But it seemed that in the evenings, and on weekends, Jerry became unbearably bitchy and irritable. The folks were at a loss.

Finally, during the final semester of Jerry's senior year in high school, he started visiting a psychologist. Dr. Rose, a recent graduate with low rates, was the understanding presence that Jerry needed.

Jerry indicated that he wasn't homosexual, but on the other hand he didn't exactly feel heterosexual either. He told Dr. Rose that he fantasized about bus loads of high school students returning from sporting events. "Are they naked?" asked the good doctor. "No, just hungry," Jerry testified.

At home Mr. and Mrs. Hill took advantage of Jerry's more subdued state by preaching. "Why don't you act like other boys?" his father would yell. "Go out, raise hell, take drugs, get girls pregnant. Be a man!"

After about seventeen sessions, Dr. Rose called a guess conference. "Mr. and Mrs. Hill I think I may have the answer. I believe your son is a fast food restaurant trapped inside a boy's body." "What?!" they answered increduously. "I know it seems odd, but all indications point to that." "What can be done, doctor?" asked Mrs. Hill. "Well there's always surgery," answered the doc.

Four days after he graduated from high school Jerry Hill became Burger Mountain. They refashioned his heart into a shake machine, his spine into a salad bar, and his lungs into Chinese lanterns to decorate the dining room. His rectum became a drive-through window, his lower intestines became the manager, and his bones became tables and chairs. They put his large intestines out in the front yard for the kids to play on and there it was -- Burger Mountain.

Jerry was happier than he had ever been. His friends began coming around again and his parents were proud.

"He's more than a man," Mr. Hill boasted, "he's profitable real estate." "But I wonder if he's eating right?" muttered Mrs. Hill.

The View From Down Here

Howdy! Welcome to Page Eight. You know, I've been wondering lately why the hell do people yawn? Sure, I know it's because they're tired, but what is it about fatigue that causes a person's eyes to squint, his mouth to stretch open, and several bursts of hearty breath to be emitted while his entire head twitches? Does this action serve some biological purpose or is it simply a built in signal saying it's time to hit the sack? If it is indeed a signal, then I am insulted. I mean, I know when I'm tired without somebody waving a flag in my face, OK? I resent the yawn, and The Surf Report will not endorse it. I appreciate your patience. Now on to the regular stuff. First let's check in and see WHAT'S HAPPENIN' WITH OTTO. Otto recently visited New York's Empire State Building with his parents. While looking at the city from the lO2nd floor he sneezed without covering his mouth. A wad of saliva hurtled to the ground, gaining an astounding rate of speed as it traveled. It eventually pierced the roof of a cab and knocked the driver unconscious. The cab went out of control and slammed into the glue aisle of Tile City, breaking the hip of an elderly shopper and severely damaging the structural properties of the bowling alley next door. On top of that, the cab driver thinks he may have picked up Otto's cold. And now a WVSR SINGLES SURVIVAL tip.  You know all that stuff that collects in the kitchen sink stopper? Get out the wok and sautee it. You're in for a rare and inexpensive taste treat! And now some BASS NOSTALGIA: "That sand bar there used to be a perfect spawning ground until that kid drowned and landed on it. It just ruined the aura. And now, a WVSR PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT Want to gain the attention of your peers? Try Lee Press-On Goiter. The rest is up to you. And finally THE QUIZ for Page Eight! What item, according to Emily Post, is best to throw during a bad play? a) flashlight battery. b) jar of olives c) tube sock full of nuts and bolts. The answer is on Page Nine. Remember, no cheating!

See ya at the beach, Jeff

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