The waitress came up and said "Hey, want corn flakes?"

"No," says I. I am busy reading my book, which is about masking tape.

But the waitress is having none of it. "I made these corn flakes myself," she says.

"Okay," says I. "Give me some corn flakes."

She gives them to me. They are red, not orange, but I eat 'em anyway. "Yuck," says I. "These don't taste like corn flakes at all."

"They're not," she says. "They're scabs I picked off my elbow."

She shows me her elbow, which is bleeding lots. All kinds of blood is pouring out of a hole there. It's like there is a blood tap she turned on.

I was about to say something when the blood started coming out of her elbow even faster. It flooded the Starbucks I was sitting in. Three people drowned, but they were old so they don't count.

Eventually, Mr. T (who was there for a pumpkin scone) broke down the door and we all went tumbling out, coated in the waitress's elbow blood. I was mad.

"You silly evil person," I said to the waitress. "I don't like floating out of restaurants, especially on other people's blood."

"Come back tomorrow," she says. "I will have myself stitched up by then."

The next day, they had turned the Starbucks into a funeral home. The waitress did a funeral for the three old people who died. Mr. T was pallbearer. He picked all the coffins up with one hand and threw 'em in a grave.

"I am very sorry for what happened yesterday," said the waitress. "As a way of expressing my deep sorrow, we are giving away free lattes to everyone."

"Yummy," I say. She gives me a latte and I take a sip. It tasted kind of strange.

The waitress said: "It is because I spat in it."

Then she opened her mouth and saliva gushed out like a waterfall. I started to float out and... well, I think you know what happened next.