An Open Letter to the Kingpin of Every Infectious Disease, Chuck E. Cheese
by Brandy Ferner
Dear Charles E. Cheese,
As a concerned parent whose immune system has been working overtime since my oldest child’s chubby little hand first touched a shopping cart handle, I wanted to kindly reach out and ask a simple, reasonable question: why is it legal for your establishment to exist? I’m absolutely sure I watched a colony of children conjure the coronavirus from just their communal filthy hands furiously touching and re-touching buttons at one of your birthday parties last Saturday. Does the fact that your bedraggled restaurant chain is the epicenter of all sickness and the single source of each year's infectious disease body count unnerve you in the slightest, my man?
Look, I understand you’re here to make a buck, Chuck, and if the CDC did what it should and permanently closed every last one of your blighted establishments, your rodent empire would crumble, like an Ebola patient’s coagulability. And I apologize if I’m coming off like a killjoy, but I’m just a sensible parent who can’t stand to hear any more facehole noises from their sick kids. How long do you think I can hear someone repeatedly sniff their nose without blowing it before I snap like Jack Torrance in The Shining? Let’s not find out.
So, until you’re ready to reckon with the lives you’ve wrecked and the medical debt you’ve brought upon an entire civilization, I politely offer you the following life-saving suggestions to consider.
1.) Get rid of the “E” in your name. It’s too reminiscent of E. coli, as if you’re welcoming those infected with it.
2.) Replace the Ticket Blaster machine so it is now the Flu Shot Blaster.
3.) Change your pizza dough to a crushed Zithromax pill crust. Tell people it’s your new healthy Keto cauliflower crust if you have to.
4.) Instead of singing the “We Say Happy, You Say Birthday” song, play the “I Say Purell, You Say Hose” game that’s exactly what you think it is.
5.) Replace birthday cakes with giant Tamiflu loaves.
6.) Install IVs on the VR rollercoaster ride so it not only vibrates, but administers high-dose vitamin C with every twist and turn.
7.) Introduce the fun new game called “Whichever of You Butt Scratchers Washes Their Hands the Longest Gets That Xbox No One Will Ever Have Enough Tickets to Buy.”
8.) Invest in “Smart Toilets” that scan the bowl for the gastroenteritis virus and then violently inhales guests who tests positive, spitting them out in the gutter where they belong.
9.) Turn those ticket-counting machines into A.I. that use thermo-technology to scope out and then separate disease-infected individuals from the pack. I’m not saying these machines should devour the brains and bodies of those affected, but it would go perfectly with that ticket munching sound they already make.
10.) Anyone who coughs is immediately beheaded by Jasper T. Jowls, your lead guitarist and animatronic dog friend.
In closing, I sincerely ask you to immediately torch every last Chuck Cheese hellmouth. It is the only answer to end all sickness on Earth.
Warm wishes (but not so warm bacteria begins to breed),
Every Parent
Check out Brandy’s podcast, Adult Conversation and her new book, also called Adult Conversation, a darkly comedic novel about the relentless of modern motherhood, available May 2020. You can learn more about her here.
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