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Throw a Cheeseburger at a Cool Guy and He'll Die

2ch is a place of science.

——

I awoke in my room, dark and cramped as a tin can.
Left without hopes and dreams like a tasteless sardine, I was still in a trance, but I arose from my damp futon.
I made a motion as if to kick Sunday morning in the back of the head, but instead I kicked the wall. I winced.
The awful pain in my toe. This fleeting holiday that offers me no rest. Even myself, for being deceived by these things. I'm fed up with it all.

At noon, I went to a nearby hamburger place.
I rarely eat any of that Western meat-between-bread stuff, and so when I set foot in the shop, I was bewildered by the noisy music and complicated menu.
A smiling clerk appeared in a bright uniform and clean apron, immediately stating "Will you be dining with us?"
Once translated, I believe his statement would be more like this: "A smelly mud-dweller like you eating so sloppily at MY high-class restaurant would wreak havoc on the aesthetic, so if you want to buy something, let's just get this over with. Got it?" Fairly sure.
Naturally, however, I stand at the brinks of humanity, with only fragments of shame and sense remaining.
I instantly told him one word: "Cheeseburger." The sir laughed and suggested a cool drink or some fries, no doubt to make me feel guilty.
Damn you, corporate pig. How dare you intrude upon the eating habits of others in your desperate push for sales. But this I did not utter.
Refusing to acknowledge his reply or even look his way, I made the addendum "Fries and ginger ale."
The paper bag was warm in my right hand, cold in my left.

—— It had happened Sunday the previous week.
I was in the bathroom of a consumer electronics store, letting out a fart.
When I was taken aback by IT, written in huge letters on the door in fluorescent pink chalk.
"THROW A CHEESEBURGER AT A COOL GUY AND HE'LL DIE"
I had absolutely no idea what it meant.
Yet this cursed declaration, despite its utter lack of foundation, on the contrary was very persuasive in my eyes.
It engraved itself in my mind as if being carved into my skull with a toilet paper holder.

Was it true? I could not resist. I had to test it.
However, once I had a cheeseburger in hand and was poised to realize my plan, I suddenly halted.
A little pigeon spoke from above a public phone. "Lost your nerve, dimwit?" No, bird.
I had no connection to and nothing against the cool guy presently in my sights.
I could ask this passerby for his cooperation in the experiment, but if by the slightest chance he was indeed killed, there would be no going back.
I don't want to become a murderer. I just want to uncover the truth.
However, I had no acquaintances who sought death, nor anyone I wished death upon, so I could not test on them.
Thus (like many pioneering scientists throughout the ages) I had no choice but to submit myself for the experiment.

I arrived at a local park.
I took the cheeseburger out of its paper bag, and opened the wrapping paper like one would peel a citrus fruit.
Ignoring its warmth and smell which teased my appetite, I tossed IT slightly skyward.
As I watched it overhead, IT flipped in the sky and returned. I aligned myself at the crash site and bent my neck and body back.
I held my breath.
I shut my eyes.
I felt it touch.
What had happened?
I opened my eyes.
The bread slices once held together had split in twain and lay on the ground, and the meat once covered in only cheese was now tainted with sand.
Most importantly, I was alive.
From this result, I considered a number of possibilities.
First of which: "Do I not satisfy for being "cool"?" (This is quite an assumption.)
Or perhaps: "It has to be a cheeseburger somehow different from this one."
Or lastly: "Cool guys never were and never will be fatally susceptible to cheeseburgers." These were my hypotheses.
All that I could determine for sure was this: "I did not die when a cheeseburger fell onto my face."
It was truly pointless. What on earth was I doing? I had accomplished nothing. Nothing had happened.
I became terribly sad and wept.

Gathering up the dirty bread and burger, I crudely reassembled them and put them into the bag.
On the way home, a little pigeon spoke from a hedge. "Learned your lesson, dumbass?" Yes, bird.
However improbable you think it is. Whatever anyone says to you, or if they laugh at you.
We have no choice but to solidly test these things one at a time. This is the reality which I tasted.


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