The troll pulled open the glass door, and tromped on in to the McGrimm's, the Golden Bridges over the door boldy highlighting the way. Inside, he stood for a few seconds, adjusting to the light, and scratched at the wart on his nose with the tree trunk he carried around for this purpose. Perusing the menu, he made up his mind and got in line. In front of him was a man with a young girl hanging on to his pant leg. "Look, daddee! I's a monster!"

The father took her hand and turned back towards the counter, whispering at her, "Now dear, it's not nice to make a fuss."

A seeming eternity later, the troll reached the counter. With a deep, booming voice, he called out, "I'd like the McGoat combo, and make the drink a Coke."

The pimply high schooler behind the counter stared at him through greasy glasses and asked in a nasal voice, "Uh, we don't have Coke. Is Pepsi fine?"

"Yes, yes."

"Oh, and I can supersize that for 59¢."

"Uh, good, do that."

"I, uh, can supersize it again for another 59¢."

"Sure, do it again."

And then the supersupersized McGoat sandwich reared up and charged right at the troll, bun-butting him square in the chest and sending him flying through the restaurant's front window, landing on the asphalt with a tinkle of broken glass. "No shirt, no shoes, no service, baaad-boy! Cantcha read?!"