"People just LOVE telling stories. Good things that brightened their day, surprising situations that left them astounded, but most of all... they LOVE telling stories about the bad things that have happened to them. You know the situation, a group of old friends around a dinner table, laughing and shouting and trying to one up each other's stories. Like; One time a homeless person wanted to fight me! or Jim reached too fast and dropped an entire strawberry nectar bottle on the ground at the grocery store and it completely covered the aisle."

"There's always one person ready to ridicule another with a story from the past, whether they dumped in their pants, or spilled food all over someone, anything embarrassing, really. I, for one, absolutely love the terrible stories that people get excited over. In fact, I love being the CAUSE of these horrible tales!"

"Now, I don't go too overboard... I am not looking to go to jail, or catch an angry punch. But in the long run, I know I'm doing these people a favor. You pay, what, fifteen bucks to see a movie these days? How often do you remember it, or talk about it? One in ten movies good enough to actually remember? With me, you don't have to pay a dime, and you get a story to tell at parties for life."

"Just yesterday, I'm strolling along the boardwalk with my cigar, enjoying my afternoon. I come across an outdoor restaurant patio, no divider between the diners and the sidewalk. A huge grin comes across my face. I see two bozos partaking in pasta and vino, and I sidle up right beside them, and ash my cigar right in his beautiful glass of sparkling white. I don't even stop walking, they are silent until I'm well past the restaurant and onto the next part of my day. What the hell? Are you kidding, man?! they yell at me. But I'm gone, and they aren't following. Now the restaurant is going to give them a free glass, maybe even a free bottle of wine! And they have a story to tell until the day they die. A minute of anguish for a lifetime of joy."

"Well, today, you'll get to join me on one of these unsavory escapades. I've got something heinous planned that is going to rock some folks' worlds. It's a blast for me, that's for sure. I had a minor inconvenience a few weeks ago at a restaurant called Baby Davey's Diner, nothing too serious, but they were out of toilet paper in the bathroom. Not my most impressive moment, waddling out of the stall to the paper towel dispenser, however- nobody saw and I was out of there quickly, clogging the toilet in the process."

"After I got back to my table, I thought to myself... What could I do to really rock this restaurant and its staff? So I stole a menu. Not too crazy, I know, but I had a plan. I went home, scanned it into my computer, and I edited that bad boy. I added a new item to their menu, a little something called The Joplin Burger. What is a Joplin burger, you ask? Well, let me tell you, it's not very far off from a normal freakin burger. BUT; it does have a little slice of twisted cactus pear on it, which ain't too easy to come by if you know anything about the Carbonizat Desert."

"So last night, I had a fellow minded pal let himself into Baby Davey's, and he replaced all of the menus in the place with my falsified versions. Wise guy even changed the signboard to include The Joplin Burger. I also got in contact with the webmaster of the diner's website, and slipped him a few bucks to add it to their online menu early this morning. And now, I'm about two blocks away, and I'm starting to get a little famished. I've heard a lot about this new menu item, and boy am I excited to try it!"

...

The sun was shining and birds were chirping in the beautiful downtown of Hollander Heights, a city known for its hustle and bustle. A portly man in a navy tracksuit wandered down a sidewalk, his aviator sunglasses shimmering in the light of the beautiful day. The light also caught the gold chain on his neck, delicately bouncing through his thick chest hair as he strolled down the block in his white orthopedic tennis shoes. His gait was short and his legs wide, and he ashed his long cigar right over some lovely red roses that the parks department had put out in city maintained garden boxes.

He crossed the one way street without taking a second glance, and a car screeched to a halt. An angry woman shoved her head out the window and yelled, "Watch where you're fucking walking, pinhead!"

The man just ashed his cigar on the hood of her car, paying her no mind. She honked angrily, but when she noticed he was continuing to walk without any sign of confrontation, she shook her head and peeled out. "Psycho," she screamed at him while driving away.

The man just smirked to himself and continued on, taking a huge puff of his cigar and blowing the smoke towards the crystal blue sky. A signboard on the sidewalk caught his attention, and he slowed and bent down to read it. It was for a restaurant called Baby Davey's Diner, and the man nodded his head while pursing his lips approvingly. He put out his cigar on the top right of the signboard, leaving a little mark of char, and put the stogie back in its case.

He waltzed in, hands in pockets, and waited at the greeter booth to be seated. "Hello there sir, how many in your party?" the greeter asked enthusiastically.

"Table for one, miss," he said, scratching at the chipping wood on her podium.

"Got it, right this way, please!"

The greeter took him to a table in the corner with a huge window and view of the street outside. "Here you are, sir! Best seat in the house," she said, motioning for him to sit.

Once the man slid into the booth, she handed him a menu and told him the server would be with him shortly. "Thank you, miss," he said, eyes already scanning the menu while his tongue popped out of the corner of his mouth.

His finger traced down the menu until it hit The Joplin Burger, and an enormous smile formed on his face. A waitress in a typical green and white diner uniform walked over, apron folded over itself, clearly well used for many years. "Hello sweetheart, what would you like to drink?" she asked in a smoky voice.

"You know what, I'm actually ready to order now, is that alright?" the man said excitedly.

"Go for it," the waitress said while pulling out her notepad.

"I'll have an ice-cold lemonade, and a Joplin burger, medium rare, please and thank you!," he said, innocently and courteously handing her the menu before she had a chance to protest.

"A what now?" she asked, a little less kindly than before.

"Oh, I'll have the Joplin burger, it sounds delightful!"

"We don't have no... Joplin burger? Just pick something off the menu please, I got other tables."

"Uh, sorry for the confusion, but look here," the man said as he snatched the menu back out of her hand.

He pointed directly to it on the menu, and the waitress lifted up her glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck, squinting deep at the item he was referring to. "Joplin? Joplin burger? Are you fucking with me?" she asked, sounding angrier.

The man looked astounded, placing a hand on his chest. "Are you serious right now? I'm only ordering off the menu that your lovely greeter left me with. You must have some nerve to talk to a paying customer like this. The only reason I came in here was to try this Joplin burger, it's on the sign out front," he said, sounding like a hurt, frightened puppy.

She grimaced at this and immediately turned around and walked outside. He watched through the huge window as she bent down and looked at the sign, shaking her head. He smirked as she burst back into the diner and picked up a pile of menus, scanning them and tossing them when apparently seeing The Joplin Burger listed. After tossing the last menu, she started towards the kitchen, and then stopped, fists clenched at her sides, and picked up one of the strewn menus before resuming her stampede.

Through the order window, he could see her holding up the menu to one of the cooks, trying desperately to figure out what was going on. The chef shrugged and turned back to the grill. She stormed out of the stainless steel swinging door and walked back to the man's table. "Sorry sir, we don't have any Joplin burgers. Cook said no. What'll you have?" she said smugly.

The man looked shell-shocked. Flabbergasted. Other diners were starting to notice. "Hey, ma'am! I looked on your website, and it had the Joplin burger too! I want to try it!" a young diner said, coming to the man's defense.

Her face contorted as she took out her phone, and checked Baby Davey's website. And plain as day, it was there. She squeezed her phone hard and slammed it on the table, shattering its screen. "Stay out of this, kid," she said, looking back to the man, "Now what will it be, sir?"

The man had tears in his eyes, clearly disturbed by this woman's behavior. The other diners were disgusted as well, and were beginning to stand up and film the waitress. The man in the navy tracksuit looked up to her, and just said, "The manager."

"Ohhh no, you aren't pulling this. Just tell me what you want or get the hell out of here," she said confidently, until she faltered towards the end when noticing just how many people were watching her.

"The manager..." the man said, sadness and fear gone from his voice, a sullen anger forming.

She looked around, her face burning red from shame, and grabbed her phone off the table. She stormed away, and went into a little office towards the back of the kitchen. An engorged man with heavily thinning spiked hair was asleep behind a desk, his tie sinking deep into his neck. She snapped at him, waking the manager from his nap. "A'wha!"

"Customer wants you. He's pissed because we don't have some burger on our menu. The whole place is fired up about it. Jerry... you know how long I've been here... We don't got this burger on our menu. But it's everywhere, signboard, website... Something is up."

Jerry wiped the sleep from his eyes and struggled to stand. He waved off the waitress as she pointed towards the man at the booth, and the thick-necked manager made his way to the table. The man in the tracksuit hung up his phone just as Jerry arrived. "Hello sir, I'm the manager here, my name is Jerry. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, what did you want to talk to me about?"

The man in the navy tracksuit fiddled with the gold chain around his neck, and looked Jerry square in the eye. "Well, Jerry. I assume your waitress has informed you of the issue. All I did was try to order something off of your menu, and as a repeat customer I was so delighted to be in here once again. However, the absolutely VILE mistreatment from your despicable waitress has thrown me completely off-guard. It has also put a bad taste in the mouth of all of the other patrons here at Baby Davey's Diner, and none of us will be coming back. Her behavior was so violent, so arrogant and smug, that I have already contacted my lawyer and plan to move forward with litigation towards this establishment... However, I can be persuaded to abandon the lawsuit, if you meet one of the following demands."

The man looked at Jerry, and the manager had sweat pouring from his forehead, his shirt was completely soaked through, but he never faltered, he just continued to stare at the man in the navy tracksuit. "Perfect. Alright, first option: you may either provide for myself and every other diner in here a medium rare Joplin burger. Second option: yourself and this disgraceful waitress both resign immediately. Third option: I sue, the restaurant closes and everyone else who works here also loses their jobs, plus you and her are held personally responsible for any financial damages. Let me know how you'd like to proceed."

The manager stood in disbelief, his mouth fumbling for words, his eyes darting from left to right. The sweat was audibly dripping onto the floor, and it wasn't odorless. The entire restaurant was starting to smell like rotten cheese. He reached for his tie, and loosened it a bit. A torrential flood of sweat poured out, splashing to the floor and filling the entire diner with 2 inches of cloudy stinkwater. He slipped and fell backwards, sliding towards his office, slamming his head hard into the counter.

Jerry awoke two months later in a hospital room with no loved ones around. He checked himself out, and returned to the only life he had, which was the diner. When he arrived, he saw it was completely re-designed, and was now called Mama Joplin's. He walked inside, and couldn't believe his eyes. The entire place had gone through an interior makeover, everything was brand new and gorgeous. What was once his office was now a roaring speakeasy, filled with swanky young people sipping on cocktails. The ex-manager's jaw dropped as he saw an oil painting of a man in a navy tracksuit hanging above the fireplace by the greeter's booth. Underneath the painting was a gold plaque that read, “The Good Guy.” Sweat began to pour from Jerry's forehead once again.