— All right... What's the trick?
— Trick?
— Where is the food? Can't all be in your stomach.
— Actually, I don't know. The fact is, I always loved eating. More than anything. Go into a restaurant, want to order everything on the menu. But, I was always frustrated, by the small capacity of my stomach. Well, 17 years ago, I made a wish... And amazingly enough it came true. Now I have, what you might call,
a black hole in my belly. Onely I have to keep eating like this, six or seven times a day. Gets expensive. So, I travel a lot, and take
advantage of guys like you to pay for it.
— That's a good one.
— Excuse me, mister. I've got to know one thing. Do you still love eating?
— No... now it's a drag.
— Ever hear Fred Turned mister Oliver?
— No sir.
— Well, he was an historian. About a hundert years ago, he came up with the theory about the Frontiere. Said, the Frontiere was a... safty velve for civilization. Place for people to go, to keep them from going mad. So... whanever were folks, who couldn't fit in with ways things were... Nuts, malcontents, extremists... Thay'd packed up and head for the Frontiere. So America got started. All the crackpods and trouble makers in Europa, packed up, and went to a Frontiere, which became, The Thirteen Colonies... When some people couldn't fit in with that, they moved further west. Which is why all the nust eventually ended up in Califonia. Turned died in 1942. So, he wond around long enought to see what would happen to the World, when we ran out of Frontiere. Some people say, we had a Frontiere in the mind. And they go off and explore the wonderfull world of alcohol, and drugs, but, that's no Frontiere. It's just another way for us to fool ourselves... And we've created this phonyfrontiere with computers. Which allows people to think thay've escaped... Frontiere with acces fees...
— What about Space? The final Frontiere?
— Ah, Star Trek isn't Space. That's television. Find fucken Frontiere, that is. Besides, how many folks can just pack up, and go to Space? Naa, the Frontiere is just here, Interstate 60. That's why I was put here. Give people, who wanted a little different, place to go.
So what did I do? I did what any self respecting hopeless romantic would do.
— Who are you mister?
— The O. W stands for One Wish. That's what I do. I grant wishes. One to a customer. Your was more interesting, then most. Open ended. Signifies thought instead of greed. That's what I get most of the time. Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme this, gimme that... Usually money, or sex, or easy living. How I deliver. Yeah, that depends on what mood I'm in.
— Eight Ball, is this guy bull-shitting me?
Magic 8 ball: — That's for you to decide.
As I said, it all started on my 22nd birthday, specifically here at my traditional birthday lunch. As always my father had picked the restaurant. Attending were the usual suspects: Sally, who my parents actually liked, maybe even more than I did; my dad, Daniel, attorney-at-law; my mom, Marlene, the attorney's wife; and my sister and best friend, Nancy, put on earth by the grace of God to keep me from going insane.
— Say... you have a birthday coming up, don't you?
— How'd you know that?
— Don't forget to make a wish.
But I do know, that just because you enjoy doing something, doesn't necessarily mean that you should make it your career.
— Yeah, can I take your order?
— 15 double-cheeseburgers, please.
— 15 double-cheese to go?
— Oh, not to go. I'll eat them here.
— You're going to eat 15 double-cheeseburgers, all by your self?
— Yeah. Why, they are real big? You think 15 to many?
— Way to many.
— All right. Twelve then. Even dozen.
— Look, are you drunk or something, mister?
— Well I don't know. Can you get drunk on six beer?
— Hay fella. I've got a hundred says that you can't eat six double-cheese, as much less twelve.
— So, what you're saying is, they're really big cheeseburgers?
— My hundred says you can't eat six double-cheese.
— Well, I'm kinda hungry. Maybe you're right. Twelve is too many burgers. I'll tell you what? Make it two double-cheese, three orders of fried chicken, one BLT, two ham & Swiss on rye, chicken fried steak, Turkey club, and two bolls chilli extra onions. And one piece of each of those pies.
— One piece of each of these pies? Anything else?
— Three order onion rings. That's much more sensible lunch, than twelve double-cheeseburgers. Oh, and hold the pickles.
— 100 bucks. If you can finish all that food, in one hour. Without getting up from that counter, and without losing your lunch.
— I'm not much of a betting man.
— Two to One odds then... No, no, I'll give you Three to One. That's 300 to mine... against 100 to yours.
— Well, what the Hell. It's only money.
<...>
— Sir, you want to drink anything with that? There's your order.
— All right. It's 13:10. On your mark... Get set...
— Wait. Ketchup, please.
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