Hi! I am Elijah and I am exhausted! It all started a few months ago, when I was hired by none other than Queen Fairytale, the monarch of the Land of Dreams. You might say ‘there’s no such thing as a Land of Dreams’, and I couldn’t blame you. It’s not like it exists anywhere on Earth. I bet you couldn’t find it on Google Maps either, so stop searching and let me finish.
I was hired as a cook. Pretty good job, pays well, standard healthcare and insurance and all… it’s just too damn demanding! I am but one of the fifty(!) cooks that work in the royal kitchens. And they keep throwing parties every week! Would it kill them to take a break? Also, would it kill them to eat regular food?
What do I mean by that? To explain that, I must first inform you on what kind of people live in the Land of Dreams. You see, every fictional character ever conceived becomes a resident here. Permanently. And, did I mention they can live forever? You would expect immortal beings wouldn’t need food. Boooy would you be wrong!
The Big Bad Wolf, for example, would demand his three little piglets every goddamn time! Needless to say, the Pigallition (the coalition of every imaginary pig, led by none other than Orwell’s Napoleon), has a bone to pick with the Queen. The drunk bastard still has the audacity to attend the parties every week, and always sits beside the Wolf. That’s some nasty business right there. Then you’ve got the robots. Optimus and the Megazord are a lethal combo, both in combat and on the table. I will only say this: if those two were down there on Earth, you’d be searching for alternative sources of energy decades before. When they see oil, they can be so childish that even Dennis the Menace would feel ashamed. Combine that with the Hobbits and every single anime protagonist, and you’ve got yourself a torrent of food that needs to be made. And what can you do when soul-eating sorcerers and cannibals join the table? Well… I didn’t want to tell you but… that’s what happens when you die, ok? Your soul and your body becomes dinner. Good or bad, you’ll all end up inside a stomach… I’ll let you digest that. Sorry. Bad choice of words.
It is a very demanding job, and fifty is a small number of people for it. We have asked the Queen to see if she could hire some other famous cooks, like your guy… you know, the blonde one who yells all the time, has the name of a Pharaoh… She adamantly refused. She has a way to persuade you. You’d be selling your wife and kids before you knew it, if she asked you to. That’s how she can calm down the unruly crowds that gather here every week. When every fictional character ever comes here for dinner, you can expect every imagined superpower is available to them. Heracles is super strong, Darth Vader chockes people around, Voldemort pets Kaa and such… yeah, he’s kind of nice here. I mean, he still has those murder-y tendencies, but give him a pet cobra and he’ll be so happy, even the Care Bears will get sick.
‘How do they coexist without tearing everything apart?’, I hear you ask. Simple: it’s the power of the Queen. The rule in the Land of Dreams is that no matter how strong you were perceived to be by your creator, your powers are always inferior to those of Fairytale. You can be a creator god in your fictional world, but in this one you will have to behave. Not that there’s never been a fight. In fact, they are way too common. Drinking contests between Gragas and Cana are legendary here, and when both of them get to their limit, they will ravage cities in their search for more drinks. In times like that, the Queen uses her own special power, and everything goes back to normal… if ‘drinking half a million ounces of beer’ counts as normal.
It’s been about five months since I started working here, and while I’ve met some interesting people, I can’t say I can do this any longer. That’s why I’m here. If you’ve got any job offers, here I am. I’ll leave my email and phone number, just in case. For now, I’ve got to go back there. Call me!