In a Late Night Diner

At one point during their wait, Leroy, who was sitting on the side of the booth that faced me, gave me "the eye." I waved. He glared even harder.

"You some sort of faggot?" he said.

"Yeah. Are you available? You’re stunning."

He gave me a disgusted look.

I sighed theatrically. "The good ones are always taken."

I’ve found, whenever a person attempts to attack your sexuality, you get far greater results by simply saying exactly what they don’t expect you to. And, as usual, it worked perfectly. Leroy was suddenly avoiding all eye-contact.

The world’s ugliest waitress finally appeared with their meals. I waited for a few minutes, until the opportune time when they both had their mouths stuffed. Then I went to work. I spoke the incantations under my breath, and, as I did, Pete and Leroy’s food suddenly changed from eggs, bacon, and pancakes into a smorgasbord of slithering insects. I watched Leroy’s face, which, unfortunately, was the only one I could see, change from enjoyment, to befuddlement, to outright disgust as he realized that he had a mouth full of millipedes, slugs, and beetles, and that the contents of his plate were scrambling up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Quite suddenly, both of them leapt from their seats and began spitting and swatting at their bodies.

Then, for some strange reason (cough), Pete’s shirt caught on fire. He attempted to slap the flames out, but didn’t have any luck. So, frantically, he ripped the shirt off and stomped it into oblivion. I sighed. Now that Pete was shirtless, I could see that he desperately needed one of those ab-machines that were so popular nowadays.

Both men turned toward me, wide-eyed. I smiled wickedly. Neither of them said a word. They simply hightailed it out of there with unanticipated haste.

I grinned to myself and finished my coffee. Being a twentieth century wizard certainly has it’s advantages.