A table, brimming with silverware, lusciously folded napkins, and wine glasses, awaited Mr. and Mrs. Porzyngis. "Sit," said the waiter, motioning to the table. His name was Paul. The loving partners-in-marriage then proceeded to sit. Paul skittered away.
"Lovely restaurant," said Mr. Porzyngis. "Just like our first date." He grasped the hand of Mrs. Porzyngis. They looked into each other's eyes lustily, remembering their crazy first date.
"Now, let's talk," said Mr. Porzyngis, now transforming from "loving marriage partner mode" into "business mode." He thrust her hand away.
"What is there to talk about?" asked Mrs. Porzyngis.
"You have something that I want," replied Mr. Porzyngis, a cruel smile forming across his face.
"Surely, you don't mean... the Doomsday Device?" asked Mrs. Porzyngis. She also had a cruel smile. Two could play at the "you have something that I want" game. Four to five players aged 10+ could play at the "cruel smile" game. But it was just the two of them, so they had to adjust accordingly.
"Don't be coy," said Mr. Porzyngis, sniffing his wine delicately before taking a sip.
"I won't give it up easily," Mrs. Porzyngis responded.
"Oh, won't you?" asked Mr. Porzyngis. "Well... let's see what your children think about that." He pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. Then he handed the phone to Mrs. Porzyngis.
Children... she thought. Children? Surely there was some mistake. She and Mr. Porzyngis had the same children. She held the phone up to her ear.
After two rings, a voice came on, that of a young boy, sobbing. "Mom? Mom, is that you? MOM?! HELP. I DON'T KNOW WHERE WE ARE."
"Roy?!" asked Mrs. Porzyngis. "Roy honey, is that you?!"
"HELP US MOM!"
At that moment, Mr. Porzyngis snatched the phone away and hung up.
Just then, Paul returned. "What'll it be folks?" he said in his charming Paul-ish manner. "The prime rib? The McDouble Plain? The Dr. McPepper Special? Bowl of Count Chocula?"
"Just the prime rib, thanks," said Mr. Porzyngis.
"And for you ma'am?"
"The... prime rib," she said, and stared at Mr. Porzyngis in amazement. "That's my favorite rib!"
"I could never forget your favorite rib, sweetie," said Mr. Porzyngis.
There were so many things for her to think about. Her love for prime rib. How this man, this "husband" as she often called him, knew of her affinity for prime rib. Her kidnapped children, apparently kidnapped by her own husband. She was overwhelmed with emotions. She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her forehead, upon which beads of sweat had started to appear in great chunks of sweat.
"Now," said Mr. Porzyngis. "Hand over the Doomsday Device. And your children go free."
She looked at him and smiled sweetly. Sure, they were married. Sure, they were in love, and their love was kindled with fiery passion. Sure, she loved this man, who worked hard each day to put food on the table, clothes on the clothesline, windows on theirs houses's window holes, doors where doors ought to go, and a nice 70-inch plasma screen TV in every room. Sure, they had their differences. But deep down, she loathed him.
"But honey," she stated, caressing his hand. "Are they not your children as well? Is not this foolishness that you have wrought, and are now wreaking, and continue to wreak?"
He took another sip of wine. The finest wine, he thought. With the doomsday device in his possession, he would be able to hold the entire world hostage and get all the fine wine he wanted. The thought thrilled him, with great chunks of thrill coming forth out of his skin.
Soon, the prime rib arrived, and the two lovers devoured their individual meat slabs with reckless abandon. They were no longer humans, no longer lovers. They were primeval rib-devouring beasts, cursed with an insatiable lust for meat slabs. Paul checked on them periodically like a good waiter.
After their plates were clean, and the Porzyngis's sat there gasping for breath after their meat slab frenzy had concluded, Mrs. Porzyngis pulled something out of her purse. A small device that resembled a yellow Tic-Tac. Mr. Porzyngis's eyes lit upon it, widening in horror.
The Doomsday Device. The legends were true.
Mrs. Porzyngis held it up in the air, threatening to drop it.
"Now let's just dial it back a notch," said Mr. Porzyngis, terror flooding his veins like some great vein-flooding beverage. "Don't wanna do anything we'll regret, right?"
"Regret?" she asked. "Regret? We'll all be dead if this drops. No time for regret." Her hand was shaking.
"Now honey," Mr. Porzyngis said, slowly reaching for her hand. "Just hand it over slowly, and then we'll eat a nice dessert of Lava Brownie Super Fudge Cake, and we'll go home, and we'll forget this ever happened."
"What about the children?"
"The children will be fine. Just... hand it over!" Then he grabbed her hand, and all was chaos, and the other diners screamed, as Mr. and Mrs. Porzyngis struggled for the Doomsday Device. At some point, the device flew out of her hand. In slow motion, they both watched it as it arced upward, then started down. The final descent, before the end of humanity.
Then it bounced on the floor gently and nothing happened.
"That's it?" asked Mrs. Porzyngis, aghast. "That's the Doomsday Device? I paid one mil for that thing!"
Paul, the ever-loving and ever-patient waiter, reappeared on the scene.
"Porzyngis's," he said. "The
real doomsday device... is in here." And he put his hand on Mrs. Porzyngis's chest. "The heart of man."
Mr. Porzyngis was astonished at this turn of events. "Wow," he said. "Wow. I can certainly say I've learned a lot today. And to think that our waiter knew the whole time."
Mrs. Porzyngis was a little harder to console, having been swindled out of a million bucks by a Chechnyan terrorist cell for the device.
"Come on honey," said Mr. Porzyngis. "Let's go home."
And they walked out, hand in hand, covered in prime-rib sauce, as Paul yelled at them and shook his fist because they hadn't even bothered to pay.
