A3Writer: F3 Copyright Infringement
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Friday, January 27, 2017

F3 Copyright Infringement

            I sat on the cloud, perusing the menus of a couple of restaurants. I wanted breakfast, and it was hard finding a place that still served breakfast at one in the afternoon in Nebraska. Apparently, they thought it was breaking a law of nature.
Surprisingly, the data connection zipped right along, despite Anna-Marie and Jack trying to zap Natalie. Jack and Anna-Marie had come from Europe for the day to hang out since the weather there was pretty calm, and the Pyros had managed not to blow up Iceland this week.
Nat zigged and zagged on her cloud board, but the field of positive ions did more to keep the lightning from her than anything. That was a new trick she had figured out, and she naturally wanted to push the limits.
Jack naturally wanted to shoot her with a lightning bolt.
Anna-Marie, instead of being the usual voice of reason, decided it would also be fun.
I, acting as the adult, firmly turned my back on the whole affair and wanted a stack of pancakes, preferably with chocolate chips and whip cream to make a face. I moved on to another website, and found proudly across the top of their page “Breakfast served all day!” I scrolled through the menu, feeling my stomach growl at the picture of French toast slathered in maple syrup. I was just scrolling past the breakfast sandwiches, when I did a double-take.
I went back, and it wasn’t my imagination. It was there both in picture and words.
“Jack!”
“Busy!”
“You’re going to want to see this. All of you are going to want to see this.”
“Time out!” Jack called.
A particularly loud sizzle and yelp from Jack. “I said time out! And you’re supposed to be on my team!”
“I slipped,” Anna-Marie said.
The three of them joined me, then looked over my shoulder at my phone.
“No!” Jack yelled. “They can’t do that! I invented that sandwich.”
“Do not remind me,” Anna-Marie groaned. “Part of why we are here is so he can buy more Pop Tarts.”
Jack stomped away, ranting at the clouds, “I lovingly crafted it with my own two hands! Those fuckers owe me money or something!”
Natalie read out the description. “‘Choice of cherry, strawberry, chocolate fudge, s’more, and other flavor Pop Tarts. Scrambled eggs cooked with choice of extras (cheese, ham, mushrooms, peppers), and bacon (maple, apple-wood, hickory) assembled in the tastiest sandwich ever to be made.’ I think I might be sick.”
“It’s like a train-wreck watching him eat it,” I said. “You want to look away, but can’t.”
“I’m going to sue!” Jack was still going. “Call my attorney and sue all your asses off, goddammit!”
“Do you think he’d notice if we left, the western scramble sounds delightful,” Anna-Marie said.
The three of us looked at one another, then slipped off the cloud as Jack continued to rant.

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