"Hey... What's your name?"

John stood before a short and skinny man with thin black hair who sat in an office chair as he looked into the glaring light of a computer.

~Great job, John! Fucking awkward, as always!! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!~

"My name? Well, that would be Jean. What's your name?" Asked Jean

"My name's John."

"Oh... Okay."

For an instant, John's eyes went blank.

~He has electricity. So he must have Cable, too.~

"Do. Do you have cable?" Asked John

Jean nodded.

"Yes."

"Would you mind if I watched some?" Asked John in his awkward, stilted tone. He didn't know why. But something about Jean just made him feel out of place.

"Sure. MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAID!" Bellowed Jean

"YES!"

"SHOW THE BIG FAT BOY HOW TO WORK THE CABLE!"

~FAT BOY!?!?!?!?!~

John quickly decided to disregard Jean's words.

A short woman with blue hair and a maid costume walked towards John.

"Follow me, sir."

John smiled.

"Yes ma'am."

John reached to his shoulder to pet one of his dragons as he followed the Maid.

"You guys are going to love sitcoms.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

...…

Settle up. Fall into a puddle of your fat Fellows. Use your grey box to flick the switch and watch the pixels dance. Oh, what an incredible story of shapes they weave.

SUBLIME!

And what's more. SITCOM'S were there. And they were incredible.

John had two loves in this world. There was his food. And his sitcoms. They were what kept him tied to this world. They were what got him to keep getting up each morning. If he didn't have these things. Then he would... Well. [Redacted]

But after the apocalypse, he had one more thing that he loved. His babies.

And he wanted to mix and match his loves. To create something even better. In a perfect world, he would always be watching a sitcom about anthropomorphic meals with his Babies while they made him food.

So, one could easily understand why John was mad.

"YIP!"

" YIP!"

"YIP!"

"Yip!"

"YIP!"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUUUUUUUUUUUT!" John bellowed.

"YIP!"

They would not stop. No matter how many times he screamed. No matter how earth-shaking his bellows were. They would not shut. There was absolutely no shutting.

The dragons would jump and play with each other. They would shoot bouts of fire and shots of ice. Band-Aid would heal them whenever they got too rowdy. If it weren't for the cancelling effect of Refrigerator's ice powers and Stove's fire powers. The house would have burned down already.

However, at this point, John was starting to think that he might want the house to burn down. Maybe then he could hear his sitcoms better.

For almost two hours, John screamed.

He missed almost twenty episodes of his Sitcom; it was enough to make him want to rip his face off.

And eat it.

Eventually. After a few hours of playing. The Dragons grew immensely. They nestled into their little balls. And fell asleep.

John couldn't help but smile as they drifted off. Some theorize that sleep is second to death. And at that moment.

John wanted them dead.

John stayed up for hours later than the dragons. His eyes were consumed by the screen in front of him. Its light was mesmerizing. And the story within it was wonderful, to.

And as the screen flickered, John began to drift off. His eyes grew glassy, and his head lolled.

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep.

...…

...

…

.

Cheeseburger.

Once long long ago. There was a burger—an unbureaucratic burger with burger-shaped purposes.

Most thought that the purpose of this burger was to be eaten.

They would cry out in a sick song, professing the ostensibility of this statement.

But the burger knew otherwise. It was destined for BGreatnessB.

~Food.~

Oh, wonderful food! LET! ME! EAT! YOOOU!

This was John's song as this ambitious Ostensibly consumable burger rose to his mouth.

For he wanted the food. To be fed. Not because he was hungry. But because he wanted to eat.

And he got his meal.

That is, if he were looking to eat a kuckle sandwich.

Screaming from the burger was a fist.

John was sent flying into the air from the force of the blow.

The burgers bun exploded in a hail of bred lettuce and mayo. And coming from it's patty. Was Beef.

"I am Beffingtion. The beef man. My beef is ungrounded. But my ideas are more grounded than any other, for I am beef. And as beef, I have one thing to say to all the beef eaters. I HAVE BEEF WITH YOU!"

Beffingtion clenched his fists and looked at John with an almost feral hatred.

His fist flew forward.

It would shatter John, for beef's beef was more massive than any beef had any right to be.

But the dream shattered first.

...

...…..

.........

............…..

And within the fragment of that dream. Came another one. A dream that was also something more.

A young girl in a sundress held a trumpet in her hand. Surroudning her were skeltions.

"To breathe. To live. To think and be anything more than dust. It's all a woefully inefficient use of energy. So embrace Dust. For that is the heart of every will!"

The thumping of drums. The rising notes of a trumpet. The chattering of bone on bone.

It rose to a billion crescendos.

Swinging bodies. Final breaths. A chees grater furiously shivering against a crippled pile of soul.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

John laid within it all. Screams echoed from him.

There was no green light.

"Let it tear! LET IT TEAR! LET IT TEAR! LET It CRACK!"

Whispering in his ear with a gibbering sort of madness was a deranged voice.

And John listened. He was tearing. He was cracking.

"The entropy. Let the dance end. Quit the game. Stop playing."

It hurt. John couldn't escape. There was no escape.

There was only John.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Slowly weaving its way through this bone break musical was a green aurora borealis.

It would end. This nightmare would end.

Hushed, rushed words. They needed to be heard even if it all burned.

"Remember the celler."

The dream shattered.

The envelope swelled.

...