A Hard Day's Work

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Clarance struggled to button his uniform. McTasty's had given him a pair that was just a size too small, giving him an uncomfortable pull on his crotch. He took a quick look in the mirror. Tight clothes, unshaven stubble, and dark circles under his eyes. Coupled with his bad smell, he had all the winning qualities of being a grill worker. Alas, he was running behind. He stepped out of his dingy, smoke-stained apartment to his rusting Ford Focus. It was a decrepit old piece of shit. Still, it got him from A to B. He stuck the key in the ignition slot, and cranked it. He pushed in and out on the dashboard, and it finally fired up to the idea of going downtown. He pulled out of the lot, and sped off towards work. His car died just as he pulled right into the Employee Parking section. Clearly pissed and looking flustered, he slammed the door, and walked onto solid ground. The sky was wonderfully blue, and the golden sunlight showered the sky with warmth. Fresh air blew against his back. After savouring the moment, he headed in. His manager Cindy stood at the counter, eyeing him as he shuffled into the room. She had always been a pretty thing, with curves that would make even the least enthusiastic race car driver in the world randy about a Dale Earndhart-style track. A wonderfully sticky smell of cheap perfume hung around her like a swarm of summer bees, and her watery blue eyes bore nails through his soul. “You're late, Claw.” she said, frowning. She bit her lip, as if she were unsure of herself. She took a deep breath. “I really hate to do this.” “You're sending me to the Automation Crew?” he replied. “Well, Jimmy got here before you. He got your spot.” “Fuck. Alright, fine. Be a bitch about it.” She glared at him with an iciness reminiscent of what had dominated the relationship they once had. No matter, it went without saying that everyone fucks at McTasty's. He slunked off to the back room, and banged on a clean white door labeled “Automation”. “Fred, let me in. Cindy's being a cunt and sent me.” A bolt thundered on the other side of the door, and it swung open. Fred was a stubby redheaded little man, and wore a white smock. A cigar hung from his mouth. “Of course she is, Claw. You've got to remember that she's your boss, though.” “True, Fred. True. Well, who do we have on the menu today?” Fred laughed. “Well, Jill got stuck running dishwasher. Todd's running assembly, and Alice is on the Bun machine. And then...” “Don't tell me.” “Sorry, Claw. Looks like Janice is managing the boilers.” There was an awkward pause. “Janice, as in, 300-pound-and-smells-like-fish Janice?” Clarence asked. “The one and the same.” “Fuck! Agh, that ruins everything! Jill's got a nice ass on her, Todd's as hung as a stallion, and Alice has the sweetest lips, but Janice ruins the whole set up.” “That's the way it's gotta be.” replied Fred, with a hint of a smirk. “Best get positioned and pitch in.” He walked into the Decontamination Room and stripped naked. The rays hit him with a familiar warmth. After drinking in the familiarity, he strutted into grill.

“Morning, Claw.” called Alice. “Remember to put your fasteners on properly today. Last time it whipped me in the face and really hurt.” He chuckled. Nevertheless, he complied, and fastened his limbs and other extremities into their designated loops and chains. “Hope we don't get some awful rush today.” he muttered. They laughed nervously. Irony could not have struck at a worse time. Nearly instantly, the rush alarms started sounding. The grips on the girdles tightened against Clarence's body, and he felt the familiar pinching sensation from the sheer amount of straps on him. His weak arms were helplessly thrust down into the grill pipes. He penetrated through the slimy outer layers, and his nimble fingers sifted through the raw meat. The automation system forced his arms deeper, he could feel the straining in his back as he pushed the meat downwards to the grill below him. Just twelve inches under the floor and flow of meat, a blade was cutting the mixture into individual patties. He could feel the heavy vibrations, and desperately tried not to get his fingers sliced off. The chains tugged his arms deeper and deeper into the tube. The iron casing dug into his arms, and his skin cut and tear against the edges. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from yelping in pain. After a near eternity, the tube ejected his forearms. He was finally able to move again, and he was overjoyed for the time being. Fred's voice came over the loudspeakers. "Alright, crew. We seem to be doing alright with timing at the moment. Regulations state that you all need to get in the grill area to maintain the equipment while we have time." The entire crew thundered in. Jill, Todd, Alice, Cindy, and Janice all stood there blankly for a moment, and began slowly polishing all the equipment. Clarence looked down at his shackles for a moment, and wondered why he had gotten into this mess. His musings were interrupted when Janice bumped into him unexpectedly. He felt her warm rolls rub up against his cock, and he was surprised at how hard he was. He opened his mouth to protest, but the force of her solid shoulder accidentally hitting his lungs caused him to choke instead. "Oh, uh, sorry Claw" she mumbled. He looked into her eyes for a moment. They were a dull amber, like brown shit smeared on a cardboard sign. Her flabbering jowls sort of hung in midair, causing drool to drip out of one side. Her entire body was a shambling mass of fat, like a walking humpback whale. She stooped over. "Here, Claw, let me help you clean the pipe. Your arms are all messed up." He obliged, and she bent over. He enormous ass crack hung out, and he nearly vomited at the sight of it. Still, it was nice of her to help him, even if she was ugly. The alarm sounded again, and before anyone could move, the machines worked Clarence to his position. His body was slowly pushing towards Janice. He struggled every step of the way, pulling against the chains. He could feel his ligaments stretching and tearing as the chains pulled him to position. Janice had no inkling of what was about to happen to her. Her exposed hips posed as an ideal entry point for Clarence, and his cock pushed into her depths. He could feel their bodies wrenching and straining, until her heard a muffled scream. Janice's head became lodged in the grill pipe, and her head was slowly working its way through the remaining meat supply. It wasn't Clarence's fault. He would have helped her if he could. But, the initial weight of Janice and the force of the chains proved to be simply too much. Under her muffled screams, everyone in grill heard the whirring of the blades. They made a sickening scraping noise as the iron blended into her scalp, adding her to the meat supply already cooking in grill. He snapped. Not only did he just experience watching someone die, but he was technically fucking a dead

body. On top of that, he was also contributing to cannabilism, which the Church and governing bodies of New London had outlawed nearly a hundred years ago. It struck him as odd to hear her last words. "Help me, help me!" was definitely not what he wanted to say when he died. "Stop the machine!" he screamed. Blue warning lights flashed, and Fred ran into the room. "What happened?! Is the machine alright?" he asked. "Janice...just fucking died." Clarence began. He looked down and noticed that the saw blades had still been working on her, pulling her fat carcass along. Her body slid off and into the grinder, and he was free...from her, at least. "Well, it's alright, Claw. She was a terrible worker. Always on her goddamned cell phone or listening to her Zune. She was useless anyway." "What about the meat?" "The meat? Aw, don't sweat it, Claw. These things happen all the time." "They do?" "Yeah, they do." Fred laughed. "But look, it's not your fault. Why don't you just go home and sleep this all off? Pretend it never happened." Clarence obliged, and left the room covered in Janice's blood. Little shreds of her folds were sticking to his chest, so he showered off and got dressed. As he walked out of the back, Cindy caught his eye. He grabbed her just as she bit into a McTasty Big Whop Burger. "Sometimes, you can be a real bitch." he said.

About the author Sean Tilley lives in a small boring town in Illinois. He is a Free Software enthusiast, as well as a Free Culture supporter. In his spare time, Sean tinkers with the GNU/Linux and GNU/HURD operating systems. He's always been one to enjoy computers, and also loves to write. He tends to write bizzare stories with lots of hidden meanings, and also does a bunch of other stuff such as create short films, act, sing, blog, joke, and philosophize.

Noteworthy Links: Life in general blog: http://seanrtilley.blogspot.com/ Literature Blog: http://seantilleywritesalot.blogspot.com/ Prose written by Beau and Sean: http://thewakeupcalling.blogspot.com/ The Xoo Experiment: http://projectxoo.blogspot.com/ Random Interviews with Random People: http://randominterpeople.blogspot.com/ Twitter: http://twitter.com/lastguyonearth Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/user/seantilley Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/profile.php?id=1161074229 Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/musicofseantilley Email: [email protected]