The Knob

[CW: Awful food; gluttony; innuendo; mockery of processed food]

The Knob

by Anthony Jutz

The Knob arose from his slumber and oozed his filthbody over to the glaring ensemble of screens that provided him access to the Grand Network of Human Connection. Of course this was a name that was seen as ironic, given nobody on it actually knew how to achieve that. The powers-that-be who created it must’ve had a reason. Not that they’d have foreseen what The Knob would use it for. Eww.

As was the premise for most of his Networked activities, it was nothing so Grand as the Network would have promised. This unpromised premise, was of course, doing some dirty work for the Brotherhood of Todd, a notorious, nasty, and quite horrible faction. This dirty work, worse than The Knob’s keyboard, was the harvesting of various currencies from the general populace of his favorite Multi-Level-Marketing-Online Game. What would these currencies be used for? A tasty and terrible snack from McDongnald’s, of course!

The Brotherhood of Todd made no empty promises. In fact, they made no promises at all. Their forums were empty! The irony, amirite? Well. What was The Knob going to do for these tasty and terrible McDongnald’s processed non-meat chunkatoids? In what manner would these currencies be harvested? Well. You don’t wanna know. Seriously. It’s gross. The Knob would… I’m holding back some gagging here, use his stolen admin privileges to change their names to stupid shit and threaten to not change them back.

These name changes included… “Todd, the Incontinent”, or “Todd, the Flatulent”, or “Todd, who isn’t Todd, but is Tedd!” Ohhhhh that last one would get ’em. Striking against their own, these Todds? Why yes. They’re a Brotherhood! They’re stereotypically awful to each other! What, did you think this was reality and not an 80s cartoon? The Knob didn’t know either way, he’s The Knob. He does… The Knob things. Don’t ask. You can probably guess.

The Brotherhood of Todd would find this uproar of chicanery and hilarity most delectable. Anyone else would find it pretentious and full of hot gas and bluster. Much like The Sisterhood of Karens. Nah, they’re not Karen-Karens. Just Normal Karens. Like Normal Karen! She’s pretty great. Doesn’t like living with Todd, the Flatulent though. He’s stinky.

Having earned their ire way before his dirty, filthy, uproaringly heinous work for Todds, et al, The Knob had really grossed out The Sisterhood of Karens. He ate one of their chicken-adjacent non-meat chunkatoids way back in the day. He didn’t use sauce. That bastard. Who eats a non-meat chunkatoid without sauce? Certainly not for the flavor. Or the little bits of you-don’t-wanna-know. Honestly Normal Karen thought it was some kinda juicy cardboard conglomerate.

So as it were, Todd-shaming and re-naming didn’t take long for The Knob. The currency wasn’t even stolen, it was donated. In fact, so much was donated, that McDongnald’s called a corporate meeting. There wasn’t enough cardboard conglomerate for this order! How could one knobby anti-Todd knob of a glob consume so much conglomerate? Science doesn’t even know. Mostly because they don’t want to.

What even was a lifetime supply of cardboard conglomerate? Because it sure ain’t much, lemme tell ya. There’s a legal limit. A legal limit to inhibit and potentially prohibit the gastrointestinal devastation of a conglomerate infestation of the lower colon. Constipation! A most dour illness if I must say so. The Knob was all too familiar but did not respect this… constipation. He just wanted his cardboard chunky wunkies. And so. Corporate found a way.

It didn’t take long for The Knob to expire like the date on his chunkatoids, on his terrible, filthy anti-Todd tirades. No, he’s not dead. He has returned to his SnoozePod Brand Sleep Capsule with Extra Venting and Filtration-of-All-Kinds. Changing a name and then dripping and oozing and schmoozing and woozing some chunkatoids down his cavernous chunkatoid tube was more than enough exertion for one day.

It was quiet on the Network that night. Yes, The Knob had accidentally unplugged his microphone. No snoozin’ snores and horrifying booty toots that night. Even Normal Karen slept alright, amidst the bickering Todds.

So, Dear Reader. If you ever wonder who’s out there, if there’s a The Knob watching over the Network with his vacant-yet-hateful glare, well. Perhaps pour out a chunkatoid for our The Knob and he’ll come calling. Over and over. So much calling. Why would you do that? Chunkatoids are hard to get outta the carpet and he HATES waste. Anyway. Good night and sweat dreems, Dear Reader. Sweat dreems indeed.

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