The Betrayal of Aldo Cheeseburger

I love my son. Bunches. He’s a great kid. Funny as hell and endlessly entertaining. But there is definitely something to be said for being able to sleep off a night of binge drinking without having a child in the house.

Saturday night, we had a “beer tasting” party at the Hamiltons’. The tasting went quite well—we had fifteen different beers and we tasted and graded all of them in something like a half hour. Then the party became a beer drinking party, and then an alcoholic beverage drinking party, and then I all but passed out on their extra bed at almost exactly midnight. Several others were still partying upstairs, and I wished I had the stamina to be up there with them, but I simply couldn’t handle it. A year and a half of being in bed no later than 11:00 and waking up around 5:00-6:00 in the morning had taken its toll.

Fortunately, my folks were watching Gabe, which allowed us to wake up at 7:00 at the Hamiltons’, drive home without much recollection of the actual driving, and recrash in our own beds until about 11:00. It was wonderful—it was also the first actual nap that I’ve been able to take that lasted longer than twenty minutes in a very long time. Now, despite having drunk myself into a stupor the previous night (it’s now Sunday), I’m feeling more well-rested than I have in ages. Viva la siesta!

And now onto the next story. This is a heart-rending tale of love and betrayal, of sibling connivery, and of fish sandwiches.

The Betrayal of Aldo Cheeseburger

Aldo Cheeseburger, the big-eyed ladybug doll was a brilliant young entrepreneur. Having grown up on the not-so-tough streets of Mole Cricket Hills, a suburb of the underground metropolis Bugtopia (located, as I’m sure everyone remembers, under New Zealand, since under the ground is the only place a bug could conceivably live a life free of the troubles offered by the country’s teaming bird population), Aldo didn’t really need to venture off on his own and find a niche to fill with successful ideas. He could have just grown up, taken over his parents’ lucrative dry cleaning business (you wouldn’t believe how many clothes bugs need dry cleaned—it doesn’t stand to reason, but it’s true nonetheless), and lived a life of mediocre comforts. But it simply wasn’t enough. He wanted to be something.

And, fresh out of business school, he had the idea that would have made him famous the whole world over—and not just the bug world over, the entire world over. He created a sandwich of such subtle brilliance that its sales numbers, in just one day, would drastically overshadow every other kind of sandwich envisioned by Rwandans, and Croatians, and Columbians, and Antarcticans, and . . . ah hell. I’m losing it.

This was supposed to be a big, dramatic buildup so that everyone would assume that the sandwich was his namesake—the Cheeseburger, quite probably the most popular sandwich in the entire world (I say this without the least bit of research, of course). But then I was going to spring on everyone that, in fact, he had invented the Fried Fish Sandwich, which he did. But that whole “overshadowed every other kind of sandwich” statement really threw a cog into my buildup. I was going to later add the qualifier that it was the most popular sandwich on Good Friday (that was the “just one day”), but then I still doubt that more fish sandwiches are sold on Good Friday than hamburgers. There are a lot of Catholics out there, but hamburgers are awfully popular. Which meant I needed qualifiers, to make the statement true, so I started alluding to the sandwich creations of several other countries that I assumed had not really supplied the world with many sandwiches. Thus, my statement would be true when I played the literary equivalent of “boom goes the dynamite” with my Fish Sandwich play. But I have no way of knowing if anyone from those countries created a brilliant sandwich. Was it a Rwandan that dreamed up “Shit on a Shingle?” Probably not the best sandwich, and maybe not even a sandwich at all, but quite possibly more popular than fried fish on bread no matter what it is. Could a Croatian have come up with the Club sandwich? Or maybe a Columbian dreamed up the concept of Au Jus—though I sort of doubt it since I’m almost certain “au jus” is French, though I base that only on the total lack of sensical consonant usage in the two words (why not just spell it like it sounds, “Oh Jew,” even if it makes a certain Chosen people angry, and use the three consonants Yahweh intended—stupid, difficult French and/or Columbians) , but who am I to know such things about gravy origins when I so clearly lack the interest in looking it up on the internet to be sure? So, there it is, a complete bust. This whole thing ended up being just stupid. I’m sorry.

Instead, let’s try this. Aldo was a smart guy who made a sandwich. But it wasn’t the cheeseburger like you might expect! Ha! It was the fish sandwich! Burn! Total misdirection through cleverly coincidental name choices! And I am certain that the fish sandwhich’s popularity far outreaches that of anything created by an Antarctican. Those guys don’t know anything about sandwiches. I mean, Emperor Penguin on toast? Gack! I don’t think so. But that still doesn’t matter.

(Aldo preparing his specialty, notice that there actually IS a piece of fish on there, just not much else. Also, this is the only picture of four that I could use because Gabe was quite eager to lend Aldo a hand)

See, the problem was, though Aldo had dreams of greatness, he was an almost complete ass when it came to business sense (thus the fact that he got a business degree in the first place . . . zing!). He knew the Fish Sandwich was a good idea. Every time he had a social gathering of some sort, he whipped up platters full of the things and all of his friends and neighbors devoured them with gusto.

(A typical social gathering with one atypically large extra guest)

But he just had no concept of marketing. It never even dawned on him that he might build a franchise around such a sandwich and successfully release it upon the world at large.

Enter Wendell Bacon, the non-bug-eyed ladybug, Aldo’s lifelong best friend. Wendell wasn’t an idea man, but he was one of nature’s promoters. Given enough time and desire, he could convince anyone of anything. He could convince nuns to shave their armpits. He could sell oil soaked rags to Garage Safety Facilitators. He could sell dictionaries to rappers (or country music singers, if that last seems racist just because I’m white, because both apply about equally, I think). He could convince livestock to change into tasty dinner foods. He was just that good.

Wendell saw the obvious appeal of the sandwich and tried to persuade his best friend into launching a series of restaurants whose flagship item would be the fish sandwich, but Aldo saw the creation as something hardly worth his attention. He had moved on to bigger and better inventions—ones he thought would truly revolutionize the world, and he couldn’t have his time wasted on something as trivial as foodstuffs. If he knew global demand like he thought he knew it, his high powered vacuum with multiple hair cutting attachments (not to be confused with the Flowbee—this was, first and foremost, a vacuum cleaner, the hair attachment was an accessory, and it should be noted that the suction on the vacuum was the same whether it was being used to clean a carpet or cut hair, which often resulted in localized scalpings) was where the money really was.

Confounded by his friend’s bull-headedness, Wendell worked with his sister, Gretchen Bacon, the bug-eyed caterpillar, to create a cunning plan. Over the next six months, through subtle manipulation and constant encouragement from Wendell (to both Gretchen and Aldo), Gretchen passive-aggressively convinced Aldo to woo, betroth, and marry her. Aldo, being the simple bug he was, never suspected a thing.

(The Wedding Ceremony, performed by Fat Sheep, who is a licensed minister with the Progressive Universal Life Church--PULC. He probably could be, look it up)

Once the nuptials were in order, Gretchen Bacon-Cheeseburger proceeded to fleece Aldo for everything he was worth (here there should probably have been more personal drama as the Bacons, who had been lifelong friends with Aldo, pitted their consciences against their greed, only to lose to their Faustian desire—if Faust had just wanted to open a chain of fish sandwich restaurants, that is—to climb to the top. However, I have no real interest in that kind of drama, so let’s just jump ahead in the narrative).

A few short years later, Gretchen and Wendell had opened a series of thriving and successful fish chains. Aldo, depressed and defeated by the constant brow-beatings he received from his wife and the flagrant way his one-time friends flaunted their success in his face, often calling him very hurtful things like “stupid head” and a “big dummy dumb dumb,” not to mention the series of class action lawsuits from various injuries sustained to customers of his Suck-u-max brand vacuum cleaner and hair removal system (most memorable, of course, being the series of people who tried to use it for “bikini area” removals), Aldo descended into deep despair and became a recluse in his own home. He only left occasionally to buy beans, which is all he would eat. Both the constant bean eating and reclusive lifestyle made it all the easier for Gretchen to justify the divorce. Fortunately for her, she’d had the “foresight” (I use the quotes to imply that she was a bit of an evil bitch, of course) to force Aldo to sign a pre-nuptial agreement, the details of which allowed Gretchen to keep everything.

Soon after the divorce, Aldo, a broken man, hit rock bottom after a particularly rough bean binge, and went back to school at his local technical institute to learn HVAC—with a minor in spot welding. He went on to enjoy small success on a local level. Though he never remarried again, it was rumored that he found comfort in the multiple arms of miscellaneous insect toys (all male, and all so far unnamed in the room’s giant storyboard). Warning, the following picture is rather explicit. I apologize to my more sensitive readers, but sometimes the truth can be very offensive.

(Aldo enjoying the company of friends)

As for Gretchen and Wendell, they were justly “rewarded” for their duplicitous dealings with their childhood friend. After the resounding success of their local franchise stores, the Bacons ventured out into the world at large with shops in New York and Boston (they decided to bypass opening any restaurants in their New Zealand home because, well, who would have noticed, really). Within two weeks of the first restaurant’s opening, they began to suffer terrible raids led by the notorious McDonald’s pirate Captain Crook. After their employees were ravaged and beaten by Crook’s crew (the most nightmare inducing of which were perpetrated by Grimace, an escaped sexual malcontent with an insatiable appetite for, well, I’ll leave that to your imagination, it hardly deserves to be relived here), the secret recipe for Aldo’s original fish sandwich was stolen, bastardized, reduced to a flavorless cardboard byproduct, and renamed Filet-o-Fish. Within months, their restaurants worldwide were closed and the last time either of them was spotted, they were living in refrigerator boxes under a bridge in Queens. The last person to see them was a homeless fellow who only noticed them because he was peeing on their heads.

(Wendell and Gretchen being showered by Nole, who is apparently homeless now, who knew. This was a pretty tough pose to re-enact. Stuffed animals don't lift their legs in peeing poses very cooperatively, it turns out)

Sorry. No video this time. There wasn't enough action in this one. Maybe next time.