With the summer just beginning, we here at the Macaroni offices wanted to commemorate this imminent seasonal shift with something grand. Sasquatch, as usual, took this opportunity to ramble on about the beauty of the solstice, and how with the harvest brings with it its own mystical fruitfulness…and luckily the boiler room interns managed to sedate him with some on-hand Sudafed before he could go all Mufasa and begin crooning on about the circle of life, for the fourth time in a week. Anyway, it was decided by nearly unanimous decision (as the Mailroom VP was reluctant to do something unpertaining to the all important cause that is mail) that the entire company would have a Hunger Game-style showdown.
So, without further ado, welcome to the first Macaroni Report Hunger Games. May the odds be super-legit.
The entire staff gathered at one of the cornfields in the Greenville Town Park, because if it was good enough for the Senior Picnic, it was good enough for an all-out, to the death showdown. All weapons were placed in the middle of the field, in the Colander. Sasquatch`s magical gophers were left in charge of enforcing boundaries around the park, and the thirteen tributes were lined up equidistant from the Colander.
With a smack of a Russell Brand™ Easy Button, it began.
Political Correspondent Richard Nixon was the first to the Colander, nabbing himself some throwing stars, which he had been taught to use by Mao himself, back in the day. Sasquatch, who had seemingly waited his entire tenure at the Macaroni Report for this moment, was a close second to the weapons stockade, and swiped himself a spear. If there had been any sanity within the Broom Closet Sasquatch, any semblance of civilization, it was gone the instant the spear was within his grasp.
OPC, formerly known as Dr. Kierbutt, looked to follow in Sasquatch`s manic lead. As OPC started towards the Colander, the Kitchenette Intern scrounged out the stale remains of a Greenville Burrito from the depths of his pockets and with a shockingly well-placed throw, impaled the ex-doctor where he stood. Sasquatch seemed to relish in the first blood of the day, although everyone else was taken back at the unexpected source of this killing. It was suddenly clear that anyone unable to handle the heat had better steer clear of the Kitchenette.
In the wake of this, the Furnace Dragon lifted off, choosing to circle above the carnage for the time being. The Head Archivist, also preferring the long game, started ascending up a nearby tree in the hopes of finding a perch from which to pick off the competition.
It was Tricky Dick himself who made the next move, making quick work of the Head Chef with his ninja stars. When the Macaroni`s leader collapsed, he looked to the sky, and managed to utter for the very last time, “Dank memes.”
Most of the staff had scattered from the cornfield at this point, such as the Kitchenette Intern, who high tailed it for the woods after the initial carnage. Not one for exercise, however, the Kitchenette Intern had stopped a moment to catch a ragged breath when he saw, lying amongst the pine needles, a single, innocent brownie. Food had come to aid him in his time of need! Wondering who had chosen to sponsor him, the Kitchenette Intern picked up the wonderful morsel of salvation….and was promptly speared by Sasquatch, who had known exactly how to lure him in.
From across the underbrush, the Mailroom VP looked up to see the Broom Closet Sasquatch as he feasted upon his victim for sustenance. The VP had only three passions in his life: Mail, mail, and the Kitchenette Intern. The visions of his and the Kitchenette Intern`s life together and their supreme reign as 2017 Class Couple was mauled before his very eyes as Sasquatch devoured the innards of his co-chef. He had always thought their love, like a forever stamp, would live on indefinitely. Not one for many words (unless, of course, they were about mail), he began to silently plot revenge.
Back in the field, the Macaroni Groupie was attempting to unleash her mania on all of the surrounding tributes at once. While stray cat had managed to outrun most of her previous attackers, the cat-like agility of the Groupie was able to match and take her down.
“Just like Monica Lewinsky,” panted the Macaroni Groupie, satisfied.
This, much like Monica Lewinsky, did not stay discreet for very long. Before she could kill again, the Mailroom CEO clobbered her on the skull with a fallen tree branch. Dropping the branch, the Mailroom CEO suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline, like he could run for president twice or sit through thousands of Benghazi hearings.
Shockingly enough, the Boiler Room Intern was still somehow alive, and huddled along the tree line for dear life. Rubbing the soot from his face, the intern suddenly felt a strong presence just beyond the underbrush. Something glinted in the afternoon light, blinding him for a moment, and then he saw it: The lean, muscular torso of Mr. Siebrecht on his afternoon jog emerged over the horizon. Transfixed, the Boiler Room Intern was still in a state of inner peace when the Furnace Dragon swooped down and swallowed him whole.
From his perch high above the fray, the Head Archivist assembled himself a disguise resembling an elephant, in order to keep a low yet dominant profile among the chipmunks and birds around him. With a single arrow, he skewered the Mailroom CEO without even blinking an eye.
Sasquatch, meanwhile, was still in full rampage mode. Down by the river, he and the Furnace Dragon squared off. The Furnace Dragon attempted to roast him, and he narrowly dodged the flames, spouting his own nonsense such as “The only good humans are dead ones!”
The Furnace Dragon, neither dead nor human, decided to fly and finish the Sasquatch off later, when he has tired himself out with his own ramblings. However, the trees are too low and numerous around the stream, and her wings could`t fully expand for takeoff. Taking advantage of her temporary distraction, Sasquatch dove the spear straight into her virtually nonexistent heart.
Dragging his latest fatality back to his den for sustenance, the Broom Closet Sasquatch failed to notice the Mailroom VP, watching from the shadows. It would have been difficult to recognize him, however. He wasn`t as grubby and blood-streaked as the Sasquatch, but his shoes were gone, sleeves ripped off and tied around his head Rambo-style, and under each bloodshot eye was a swipe of mud, both as camouflage and war paint.
For one brief moment, the only sound beside the dull thump of Sasquatch trudging along with what had been the Furnace Dragon was the far off cry of an ostrich. Then, the VP pounced, swift as priority flat-rate shipping, decapitating the Sasquatch and avenging the Kitchenette Intern in one instantaneous motion. The filthy head of the creature splashed into the stream, washing downstream to go psychologically scar some children.
Stumbling away from the corpse, the Mailroom VP let out a satisfied barbaric yawp, proving that it really is the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Behind him, several dozen chipmunks descended from the treetops to feast upon Sasquatch`s headless body.
As the Mailroom VP was about to lean down to wash the blood and grime from his hands, an arrow clipped him in the back, courtesy of the elephant suited Head Archivist. His body too was shipped away down the river, presumably a collect on delivery sort of deal.
Casting off his elephantine disguise and descending the tree, the Head Archivist, once on equal footing, stared down Political Correspondent Richard Nixon with all the due respect one would to a competitor and former president. They both had their weapons drawn, ready to fly at any moment. The Archivist`s kilt flittered in the breeze.
In the same instant, they both let their weapons hit home. Richard Nixon and the Head Archivist fell to the earth, dead.
The Vending Machine, self sustaining as ever, stood alone in the cornfield as victor.
So, as the winner and sole survivor of the first Macaroni Report Hunger Games, the Vending Machine has won a lifetime supply of pasta and cheesy jokes, along with his usual salary (nothing) and having to watch over the offices while the rest of us are off having lives for the summer.