Hamburger Time and Banana Stickers
*Re-posted from the hearts_and_guts gift exchange*
Post Dethhealth: Murderface and Nathan are ordered to have a therapy session to deal with their “hamburger time” issues, and Murderface needs a little extra help too.
Disclaimer: I do not own them, and all that stuff.
Charles studied the roomful of lounging musicians who never gave a crap about what he had to say. It didn’t matter, his mind was made up and this time they were just going to have to comply.
“Nathan and Murderface, I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling you both a session with Twinkletits to deal with your issues about death and-”
“Please,” Nathan cut him off, “Use the word ‘hamburger time’ when speaking to us.”
“Pleasche.” Murderface seconded.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. And Murderface, you seem to also have lingering issues from your encounter with the doctor, I’d like to see those resolved.”
“I’m not gay, he wasch gay! I don’t need a schesshion!”
“The fact that you’re upset about this proves that indeed you do. No arguing, you’re both going.”
They weren’t pleased. Nathan made another attempt, “It’s not my fault my dentist... you know. I didn’t know he was planning to... uh, go out to lunch.”
“Go out to lunch?”
“Yeah. When you like, hamburger time yourself? Hey, Toki’s cat... hamburger timed too. Why doesn’t he have to go?”
Charles considered that, it was actually a valid question. “Toki? Do you feel you need therapy to deal with the death of your pet?”
“Noes, I’s fine.”
That was good enough for Charles. “Well there you have it, he’s fine.”
Oh, the manager believed Toki, but not them? That just wasn’t fair.
Murderface motioned toward Skwisgaar, who still had dozens of small scabs marring his arm. “Scho what about Shwisgaar? He got all traumatized by that nursche!”
Skwisgaar explained before Charles could even ask. “I’s doing mine own therapies wit de nurse who was de problems.”
“And what would that be?”
“I tells her I’s got to stick her as many times as she sticks me, den we’s evens.”
This job did not pay enough. Well actually, it did. “Skwisgaar? You didn’t tell her that beforehand, did you?”
“I might has mentions someting, ja.”
Well that certainly explained why she’d been perfectly competent with the rest of them. Skwisgaar most likely just hadn’t expected her to be so... enthusiastic.
Pickles offered his drunken opinion from his spot on the couch. “Dudes, ya rally should go. I went ta sahm therapy when I was dyin’, an’ I’m all better now. Thet shit rally werks.”
“How can you schay that?”
“Yeah Pickles, it was just cat pee. So how does that mean it works?”
Looking as authoritative as a drunken man slumped on a couch possibly can, he explained, “Well thet’s obvious. I’m naught dyin’ anymore, so I’m all better.”
“Schop schaying that word! Schay hamburger time!”
Pickles didn’t bother to respond to that.
Charles was done arguing. “That’s it, you two. Therapy, now. Come along, chop chop.”
Still grumbling, they gave in and followed him down the hall to the therapist’s old office. The room wasn’t needed for anything else, so it had been left intact for dealing with the occasional little problems such as these.
The bespectacled cyborg therapist greeted them in his usual annoyingly perky manner. “Come in, come in! So you’ve got some things you need to talk about? Some things bothering you?”
“NO! We’re fine.”
Murderface just crossed his arms defiantly.
“Now that’s not what I hear! Remember, it’s perfectly okay to talk about your feelings.”
They didn’t look like they shared this opinion, not in the least. He motioned for them to take a seat.
“So Nathan, I see you have issues with death-“
“HAMBURGER TIME!”
“Okay fine, issues with hamburger time, and a fear of dentists.”
Nathan didn’t completely agree with this. “I’m not like, afraid of dentists. I just don’t like them. That guy seemed pretty cool though, at least until he blew his head off. That was really brutal.”
“Brutal? That’s how you would describe it?”
The guy had turned his gun on himself with no warning, without even saying anything to him. What other possible description was there? “Yeah. Totally brutal.”
“Murderface, it says you also have issues with, uh hamburger time, and...” He checked his notes, “...are upset that you came in a gay doctor’s face. Is this correct?”
“I wasch moleshted.”
“And you enjoyed it? How did that make you feel?”
“I feel like my penisch hasch betrayed me. Like I juscht found out my besht friend isch cheating on hisch wife.”
“Uh, you don’t have a best friend.”
“Now Nathan, that’s not very helpful. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”
Slouching in his chair sulkily, Nathan waited.
“Well I have an idea that I think is really going to help you two out.” Twinkletits pushed a box toward them. “Go on, open it. I want you both to take one.”
They stared at it suspiciously, at least nothing seemed to be moving in there. The doctor clicked his metal claws encouragingly.
Very carefully, Nathan poked the box with his finger. When nothing happened, he cautiously opened the flaps and looked inside.
OH FUCK, HIS HEAD WAS IN THE BOX-
Oh , it was a mirror, just a mirror. He was kind of scary when he surprised... himself. That was probably cool.
Confused, he took out the mirrors (there were two) and handed one to Murderface.
“Now I want you both to look into your mirrors and say ‘I am going to die.’ Can you do that for me?”
Murderface immediately objected. “I’m not schaying that!”
Twinkletits turned to him. “But you will die someday, because death is part of life. Say it, Murderface, face your fears.”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Prove it, say the words. Or are you not man enough, hmm?”
“Huh? What the hell are you- FINE. I am going to die. There, are you happy now?”
“That was very good! Doesn’t that feel better?”
“No.”
Ignoring that response, the therapist turned to Nathan. “Your turn. Dying’s perfectly natural, everybody dies someday.”
“Uh, how is eating a shotgun perfectly natural?”
“Now, now, don’t be difficult! Of course a gun isn’t natural, but the simple act of dying is!”
“Seriously, do we pay you for this shit?”
“Nathan. You’re disappointing me. Murderface managed to say it, surely you can too!”
Deciding to get it over with, Nathan looked into his mirror. “I am... going to die?”
The grinning cyborg held out a prize. “Very good! Here’s your banana sticker, you’re dismissed.”
With a grunt, Nathan accepted it and left the room.
Murderface found this unfair, just like most other things in his life. “How come he getsch a banana schticker? Why don’t I get a banana schticker?”
“Because we’re not done here yet. Besides, are you sure you want one? Think about it, what is a banana shaped like?”
Realization sunk in. Why was he craving an item that was shaped like a dick?! And about this craving, just whose fault was that? “IT WASCH YOU! Your shtupid banana shtickers made me gay!”
“If it was that simple, all of you would be gay now. No Murderface, I’m afraid it’s just you.”
“You mean... You mean I’m really gay?”
“Well, I’d say you’re bi-curious at the very least. That means you think about fucking a man sometimes.” He’d found that it was easier to just define things before they could ask.
Sitting silently with a freaked out expression, Murderface attempted to process this information.
It was time to shake the man up a little more. “Now Murderface, let’s talk about some of those things Charles tells me you’ve been fantasizing about recently.”
“How do you know- There’sch no way you can know that schit! It’sch imposshible!”
“Well actually, you’ve all been given brain implants that allow him to watch your thoughts like a movie.”
“THAT’SCH SCHO WRONG!”
“Calm down, I was just kidding with you. But you do talk in your sleep.”
“He watchesh me schleep?”
“No, not really, but you might have mentioned something the other day.”
“What- How can- YOU CAN’T PROVE ANYTHING!”
He seemed to be opening up nicely, so far so good. “Let’s rock talk. Tell me a story, tell me about Murderface. When did you first realize you had these feelings?”
Oh that was an easy one, he wished he could forget that day. “I woke up with a clown’sch hand in my pantsch. And I liked it.”
“Dr. Rockso, okay. Well you can see his junk through his jumpsuit, I suppose that makes fantasizing about him a lot easier.”
“I don’t- I never schaid I fantaschize about him!”
“Oh, but you do, don’t you? It’s okay to tell me, I’m a professional. All your secrets are safe when you’re here. But it started even before that, didn’t it?”
There was that incident at his birthday party when he’d shoved that huge, long, dick-shaped balloon down the clown’s throat. A man who could swallow something like that...
The pastel-wearing therapist sat waiting, looking so annoyingly sure of himself.
Now that he was forced to think, how many little signs had there been? How many little incidents over the years had he somehow managed to ignore, to overlook?
Sensing it was time to push the man further, Twinkletits had one very important question. “And what about your band mates? Have you ever fantasized about any of them?”
“No!” He could pretty confidently say that he hadn’t. “They’re all asscholes!”
“And your manager? Any feelings there?”
“No! Jeezsh, he treatsch usch like we’re children, it’s dischreshpectful.” Besides, the CFO was about as asexual as it got. The man had probably never even masturbated.
Oh god, why was he thinking about that?
Ignoring his patient’s distress, the metal-armed therapist pushed on. “Disrespectful, okay. Well then, what about Dick Knubbler, you spend a lot of time with him. Any hidden feelings there?”
He did spend a lot of time with the producer. Knubbler treated him like a real person, so he actually liked spending time with him. But did that mean...?
He wasn’t sure. “I guessch Knubbler’sch okay.”
“Just okay? Let me hear you say something positive about him, don’t be afraid.”
Why did he insist on using that word? He wasn’t fucking afraid. “He hasch pretty eyes.” Their shifting colored glow was fascinating.
Why did it suddenly feel like the atmosphere had just changed?
“So you like cyborgs?” Twinkletits leaned across the desk, raising an eyebrow seductively.
With a manly little shriek, Murderface got up and fled the room.
“Come back! Don’t you want your banana sticker?” The therapist called after him, with a sinister little chuckle.
Retreating footsteps were the only reply.
Post Dethhealth: Murderface and Nathan are ordered to have a therapy session to deal with their “hamburger time” issues, and Murderface needs a little extra help too.
Disclaimer: I do not own them, and all that stuff.
Charles studied the roomful of lounging musicians who never gave a crap about what he had to say. It didn’t matter, his mind was made up and this time they were just going to have to comply.
“Nathan and Murderface, I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling you both a session with Twinkletits to deal with your issues about death and-”
“Please,” Nathan cut him off, “Use the word ‘hamburger time’ when speaking to us.”
“Pleasche.” Murderface seconded.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. And Murderface, you seem to also have lingering issues from your encounter with the doctor, I’d like to see those resolved.”
“I’m not gay, he wasch gay! I don’t need a schesshion!”
“The fact that you’re upset about this proves that indeed you do. No arguing, you’re both going.”
They weren’t pleased. Nathan made another attempt, “It’s not my fault my dentist... you know. I didn’t know he was planning to... uh, go out to lunch.”
“Go out to lunch?”
“Yeah. When you like, hamburger time yourself? Hey, Toki’s cat... hamburger timed too. Why doesn’t he have to go?”
Charles considered that, it was actually a valid question. “Toki? Do you feel you need therapy to deal with the death of your pet?”
“Noes, I’s fine.”
That was good enough for Charles. “Well there you have it, he’s fine.”
Oh, the manager believed Toki, but not them? That just wasn’t fair.
Murderface motioned toward Skwisgaar, who still had dozens of small scabs marring his arm. “Scho what about Shwisgaar? He got all traumatized by that nursche!”
Skwisgaar explained before Charles could even ask. “I’s doing mine own therapies wit de nurse who was de problems.”
“And what would that be?”
“I tells her I’s got to stick her as many times as she sticks me, den we’s evens.”
This job did not pay enough. Well actually, it did. “Skwisgaar? You didn’t tell her that beforehand, did you?”
“I might has mentions someting, ja.”
Well that certainly explained why she’d been perfectly competent with the rest of them. Skwisgaar most likely just hadn’t expected her to be so... enthusiastic.
Pickles offered his drunken opinion from his spot on the couch. “Dudes, ya rally should go. I went ta sahm therapy when I was dyin’, an’ I’m all better now. Thet shit rally werks.”
“How can you schay that?”
“Yeah Pickles, it was just cat pee. So how does that mean it works?”
Looking as authoritative as a drunken man slumped on a couch possibly can, he explained, “Well thet’s obvious. I’m naught dyin’ anymore, so I’m all better.”
“Schop schaying that word! Schay hamburger time!”
Pickles didn’t bother to respond to that.
Charles was done arguing. “That’s it, you two. Therapy, now. Come along, chop chop.”
Still grumbling, they gave in and followed him down the hall to the therapist’s old office. The room wasn’t needed for anything else, so it had been left intact for dealing with the occasional little problems such as these.
The bespectacled cyborg therapist greeted them in his usual annoyingly perky manner. “Come in, come in! So you’ve got some things you need to talk about? Some things bothering you?”
“NO! We’re fine.”
Murderface just crossed his arms defiantly.
“Now that’s not what I hear! Remember, it’s perfectly okay to talk about your feelings.”
They didn’t look like they shared this opinion, not in the least. He motioned for them to take a seat.
“So Nathan, I see you have issues with death-“
“HAMBURGER TIME!”
“Okay fine, issues with hamburger time, and a fear of dentists.”
Nathan didn’t completely agree with this. “I’m not like, afraid of dentists. I just don’t like them. That guy seemed pretty cool though, at least until he blew his head off. That was really brutal.”
“Brutal? That’s how you would describe it?”
The guy had turned his gun on himself with no warning, without even saying anything to him. What other possible description was there? “Yeah. Totally brutal.”
“Murderface, it says you also have issues with, uh hamburger time, and...” He checked his notes, “...are upset that you came in a gay doctor’s face. Is this correct?”
“I wasch moleshted.”
“And you enjoyed it? How did that make you feel?”
“I feel like my penisch hasch betrayed me. Like I juscht found out my besht friend isch cheating on hisch wife.”
“Uh, you don’t have a best friend.”
“Now Nathan, that’s not very helpful. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”
Slouching in his chair sulkily, Nathan waited.
“Well I have an idea that I think is really going to help you two out.” Twinkletits pushed a box toward them. “Go on, open it. I want you both to take one.”
They stared at it suspiciously, at least nothing seemed to be moving in there. The doctor clicked his metal claws encouragingly.
Very carefully, Nathan poked the box with his finger. When nothing happened, he cautiously opened the flaps and looked inside.
OH FUCK, HIS HEAD WAS IN THE BOX-
Oh , it was a mirror, just a mirror. He was kind of scary when he surprised... himself. That was probably cool.
Confused, he took out the mirrors (there were two) and handed one to Murderface.
“Now I want you both to look into your mirrors and say ‘I am going to die.’ Can you do that for me?”
Murderface immediately objected. “I’m not schaying that!”
Twinkletits turned to him. “But you will die someday, because death is part of life. Say it, Murderface, face your fears.”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Prove it, say the words. Or are you not man enough, hmm?”
“Huh? What the hell are you- FINE. I am going to die. There, are you happy now?”
“That was very good! Doesn’t that feel better?”
“No.”
Ignoring that response, the therapist turned to Nathan. “Your turn. Dying’s perfectly natural, everybody dies someday.”
“Uh, how is eating a shotgun perfectly natural?”
“Now, now, don’t be difficult! Of course a gun isn’t natural, but the simple act of dying is!”
“Seriously, do we pay you for this shit?”
“Nathan. You’re disappointing me. Murderface managed to say it, surely you can too!”
Deciding to get it over with, Nathan looked into his mirror. “I am... going to die?”
The grinning cyborg held out a prize. “Very good! Here’s your banana sticker, you’re dismissed.”
With a grunt, Nathan accepted it and left the room.
Murderface found this unfair, just like most other things in his life. “How come he getsch a banana schticker? Why don’t I get a banana schticker?”
“Because we’re not done here yet. Besides, are you sure you want one? Think about it, what is a banana shaped like?”
Realization sunk in. Why was he craving an item that was shaped like a dick?! And about this craving, just whose fault was that? “IT WASCH YOU! Your shtupid banana shtickers made me gay!”
“If it was that simple, all of you would be gay now. No Murderface, I’m afraid it’s just you.”
“You mean... You mean I’m really gay?”
“Well, I’d say you’re bi-curious at the very least. That means you think about fucking a man sometimes.” He’d found that it was easier to just define things before they could ask.
Sitting silently with a freaked out expression, Murderface attempted to process this information.
It was time to shake the man up a little more. “Now Murderface, let’s talk about some of those things Charles tells me you’ve been fantasizing about recently.”
“How do you know- There’sch no way you can know that schit! It’sch imposshible!”
“Well actually, you’ve all been given brain implants that allow him to watch your thoughts like a movie.”
“THAT’SCH SCHO WRONG!”
“Calm down, I was just kidding with you. But you do talk in your sleep.”
“He watchesh me schleep?”
“No, not really, but you might have mentioned something the other day.”
“What- How can- YOU CAN’T PROVE ANYTHING!”
He seemed to be opening up nicely, so far so good. “Let’s rock talk. Tell me a story, tell me about Murderface. When did you first realize you had these feelings?”
Oh that was an easy one, he wished he could forget that day. “I woke up with a clown’sch hand in my pantsch. And I liked it.”
“Dr. Rockso, okay. Well you can see his junk through his jumpsuit, I suppose that makes fantasizing about him a lot easier.”
“I don’t- I never schaid I fantaschize about him!”
“Oh, but you do, don’t you? It’s okay to tell me, I’m a professional. All your secrets are safe when you’re here. But it started even before that, didn’t it?”
There was that incident at his birthday party when he’d shoved that huge, long, dick-shaped balloon down the clown’s throat. A man who could swallow something like that...
The pastel-wearing therapist sat waiting, looking so annoyingly sure of himself.
Now that he was forced to think, how many little signs had there been? How many little incidents over the years had he somehow managed to ignore, to overlook?
Sensing it was time to push the man further, Twinkletits had one very important question. “And what about your band mates? Have you ever fantasized about any of them?”
“No!” He could pretty confidently say that he hadn’t. “They’re all asscholes!”
“And your manager? Any feelings there?”
“No! Jeezsh, he treatsch usch like we’re children, it’s dischreshpectful.” Besides, the CFO was about as asexual as it got. The man had probably never even masturbated.
Oh god, why was he thinking about that?
Ignoring his patient’s distress, the metal-armed therapist pushed on. “Disrespectful, okay. Well then, what about Dick Knubbler, you spend a lot of time with him. Any hidden feelings there?”
He did spend a lot of time with the producer. Knubbler treated him like a real person, so he actually liked spending time with him. But did that mean...?
He wasn’t sure. “I guessch Knubbler’sch okay.”
“Just okay? Let me hear you say something positive about him, don’t be afraid.”
Why did he insist on using that word? He wasn’t fucking afraid. “He hasch pretty eyes.” Their shifting colored glow was fascinating.
Why did it suddenly feel like the atmosphere had just changed?
“So you like cyborgs?” Twinkletits leaned across the desk, raising an eyebrow seductively.
With a manly little shriek, Murderface got up and fled the room.
“Come back! Don’t you want your banana sticker?” The therapist called after him, with a sinister little chuckle.
Retreating footsteps were the only reply.