Burgers and Bullets

It started, just a day like any other
But no one really knows what the future holds
It was just a bright, sunny day
Inside the neighborhood McDonald’s.
With a thunderous crash
The frame upon the doorway nearly cracked
From the sudden, furious impact
As in walked the postman
Who only stood and laughed
And pulling out a deadly, automatic machine gun,
Proceeded making hamburger
Out of absolutely everyone.
“Who cares about exact address?”
He cried between reloads,
“When I scatter your remains
Across four separate zip codes?”
But no sooner had he said this
Windows shattered high and low
Without a single warning,
In stormed the PLO.
Patrons screamed in terror
But no one heard their plight
As they were mowed down one by one
Amidst the ensuing firefight.
The place lay littered with bodies
The floor was covered in blood
Spreading over the colored tiles
A slow, crimson flood.
And when the smoke had cleared,
There was a momentary lull.
The only man left standing
Was on the government payroll.
So turning towards the only
Remaining live cashier
He drew a bead with his gun
When a noise came from the rear.
Whipping around, he saw there
Framed inside the door,
The man with the massive
Magnum 44.
“I need that one alive,”
The imposing figure said
As he fixed aim on the postman
And shot him in the head.
Then, turning to the last
Of the frightened employees
Ordered fries and a Coke
And a quarter pounder with cheese.