MICHAEL: So, whose turn is it today? I sure hope it's not mine, I don't think I can deal with it today.
CLARK: Well, I can't say for sure, but I'm thinking Jeff has today. What are you planning on writing about, ol' British buddy o'mine?
JEFF: Who's up for brunch?
CLARK, MICHAEL (both desperate to do anything to take their minds off work): Wha...? Sure!
Later that morning, entering the local IHOP, the guys are accosted by a crowd of costume-wearing mascot types.
MASCOTS: Hey, Unbelieva-Fools!
JEFF: Who are you guys?
MASCOTS: Allow us to introduce ourselves. We are...
|Scoop and Cookie, and we are...|
MICHAEL: The what?!
CLARK: The who?!
JEFF: No Clark, it's definitely not The Who. Roger Daltrey wouldn't be seen dead in a bee outfit.
CLARK: Okay, so what do you clowns want?
DER WIENERDOG: Clowns? Did you say CLOWNS!? NEVER call us the C-word. We hate them!
MICHAEL: Actually, you're not alone.
JOLLIBEE: What my canine friend means is we hate one in particular. That.... McDonald guy.
JEFF: Ah, I see. You guys hate Ronald McDonald --
COOKIE: And the Burger King, and Jack In The Box -
CLARK: But why?
DER WIENERDOG: Come with us and we'll explain the whole thing to you.
MICHAEL: If it's all the same to you, I've got a date with a spinach and mushroom omelette, hash browns, links, and a short stack. And all six syrups.
DER WIENERDOG: You don't really have a choice. (Jollibee puts Michael in a headlock, Scoop puts Jeff in a full nelson, and Little Chef shoves Clark and the rest of the guys into a minibus.)
CLARK: Where are we going?
DER WIENERDOG: To see the boss - the Big Boy!