Mitchell’s Burger Joint Performance and Bathroom Finale

The fluorescent lights of Greasy Pete’s Fast Food Emporium cast a harsh glow on Tommy and Mitchell as they entered. Mitchell, clutching Tommy’s hand with the nervous energy of a toddler about to embark on his first great adventure, was dressed in his signature style—shirt and a pamper that was already hinting at imminent disaster.

Tommy, with the confidence of a man who clearly had no business being responsible for a child, approached the counter. Mitchell’s grip tightened, his eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and pure, unadulterated toddler anxiety.

“Excuse me,” Tommy announced to the bewildered cashier, “I’d like to speak with the manager. My boy Mitchell here is looking for a job.”

The manager appeared, confusion etched across his face. Mitchell, all of two-and-a-half feet tall, stared up with eyes that suggested he was simultaneously terrified and completely unaware of what was happening.

“This is Mitchell,” Tommy declared, positioning the toddler like he was presenting a business proposal. “He’s got some real potential.”

With the grace of a tiny, uncoordinated ballerina, Mitchell suddenly decided to turn this job interview into an impromptu performance. He executed what could generously be called a “twirl.” His little body spun in a wobbly circle, pamper swinging precariously with each rotation.

Then, with a showmanship that would make Broadway jealous, he grabbed the waistband of his pamper and hoisted it up.

“Ta-da!” Mitchell seemed to declare, though he said nothing.

The manager found himself face-to-face with Cookie Monster, who was now grinning from Mitchell’s pamper like some kind of absurd mascot of chaos. The blue fuzzy character smiled, seemingly as bewildered by the situation as everyone else.

Mitchell, not content with his visual presentation, decided to add an auditory component. With the concentration of a classical musician preparing to hit a perfect note, he pushed.

A fart erupted. Loud. Proud. Unapologetic.

Tommy, unfazed, hoisted Mitchell into a high chair. The pamper, now a hazardous zone of epic proportions, squished beneath Mitchell’s weight.

“Burgers!” Tommy announced, as if this were a completely normal sequence of events.

Mitchell began to bounce. Up and down. Up and down. The high chair creaked. The pamper threatened total structural failure. But Mitchell? Mitchell was living his best life.

The manager continued to laugh, caught between shock and some bizarre form of amusement.

After the meal, Tommy walked Mitchell to the bathroom. The koala changing station stood there, innocent and unsuspecting. Tommy lifted Mitchell, positioning him on the station with his dirty, overloaded pamper.

“Bounce,” Tommy commanded.

Mitchell, ever the obedient performer, began to bounce. Up and down. Up and down. The koala station creaked. Protested. Wobbled.

With a sudden, catastrophic crack, the station gave way. Mitchell continued bouncing, seemingly unaware of the destruction he’d just caused.

Tommy leaned in close. Too close. And with surgical precision, he pushed out a fart directly into Mitchell’s face.

Moral of the story: Some adventures are best left unwitnessed. Some boundaries are meant to be obliterated.