Loving Mr. McDonald

Money Makes Me Happy

If I could have one thing in this world, what would it be? Everlasting happiness? All the knowledge known to man? True love? Well, to be honest, if I could ask for anything I would ask for money.

Why money? Money can't buy happiness! Bullcrap. If I could afford to buy three mocha frappes daily and then liposuction all the fat off me in the evenings, I know I'd be happy. If I could afford to buy all the expansion packs in the Sims or the addons in Toca Boca, I know I'd be happy. If I could just pay a therapist to walk around with me and fix all my problems, I know I'd be happy.

But I'm not happy. I'm broke.

Now here I am, walking aimlessly down the streets of the vast city in hopes to get a mere glimpse of clown feet. This stupid, spoiled, and vain fast-food mascot was my only chance to make it big. Ronald McDonald could be my salvation if I found him.

"Dude," I sigh into the phone, "he's not here."

"Really? I got it from a good source that he'd be in the area, but it seems they were wrong. Maybe you just need to look harder Shay," Ericka responds jokingly.

Ericka was my best chance at finding Mr. McDonald. He just came back into the spotlight and, being a scriptwriter and producer, Ericka could get leads on where to find him. We were best friends so she agreed to help me, but I think our unbreakable bond of playing flowers in the middle school play really sold her. Flowers forever. Yet, she'd been sending me on these wild goose chases for the past few days so I'm not sure how helpful that bond is.

"Could you let me know if you hear anything else?" I ask.

"Sure," she says, "but I don't think he'll just be wondering about like you're hoping. I'll do some more digging and call you later."

I hung up the phone after thanking her and let my thoughts take over me. This could be my one chance to make a name for myself and I couldn't even manage to find the clown who would make me rich. How hard is it to find a clown?!

"We'll find him next time, don't worry," a voice says beside me.

I jumped until I recognized the pleated skirt and beanstalk figure. "I'm not gonna lie Kayley, I completely forgot you were here."

"Ok well," she huffed, "then forget me trying to be nice."

Kayley actually has a full-time job as a veterinarian and used to be decently well-off. But she had a hobby that eventually cost her everything. After a long day of walking dogs, she would go on her computer and copy entire Barbie movie scripts (exclusively Barbie movies) and pass them off as her own. It was all a joke but the Barbie Company caught onto her. They gave her countless warnings but the copying continued.

Long story short, Kayley was sued for Copywrite and is now helping in my search to make a few bucks herself.

"We clearly need to find a different approach if we want to catch this guy. Everyone in the city is hoping to get a story out of him," I glance at the notepad in my hand, "so we have to think smarter."

"Maybe we don't have to think at all," Kayley says.

"What?"

"Maybe we just need a little luck."

"Would you just spit it out?" I demand.

Kayley grins and points at a building behind me. I turn around and see the iconic reds and yellows all splashed on a onesie. No flipping way.

"I'm finally going to be happy!" I shout.

"You mean rich?"

"Bro, same thing."