Wally Waiter won the mega-million dollar lottery. He had money to burn and opened up a fancy dessert and ice cream parlor. But whatever his customers requested, he would always serve them the wrong items. Without fail, he just couldn't bring himself to serve them their correct order. He must have loved to hear customers complain and run out of his shop or something.

Wow-wee! When I found out about all the sweets he was wasting, I was there in a sugar rush flash. I walked in and said, “I want the Chocolate Disguised Surprise.”

“Yes sir, one Chocolate Disguised Surprise coming right up,” he cheerfully replied. Boy was he fast. In 35 seconds I had my dessert. But it was the wrong flavor. He looked at me expecting me to say, “Take it back, I want chocolate.” But not me, I just gobbled it down like it was already gobbled down. With head slouched down, he looked disappointed and angry.

“Is there anything else that I can bring you, sir ,” emphasizing the word else .

“Yes, bring me one Ready Teddy, and one Frosted Melon Shake,” I uttered while licking my beak in anticipation. Well, in 45 seconds both desserts were on my table and both were totally wrong, again. Before he could say, “Did you want me to take them back, sir ? I had them safely in my tummy, licking my beak, and saying yummy-yummy.

He exploded like a firecracker, “WHAT'S UP WITH YOU? I BROUGHT YOU TWO WRONG ORDERS, AND YOU JUST SCARFED THEM DOWN WITHOUT A SINGLE WORD. SO WHAT ELSE CAN I GET FOR YOU … YOU MORON ?”

“I'll take the first six items on your menu with extra butterscotch on the side,” I pleaded. In exactly one minute all six were on my table and all totally wrong as usual.

“WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY TO THAT SIR ? SHOULD I TAKE THEM ALL BACK SIR … AND GET YOU THE SIX ITEMS THAT YOU ORDERED … SIR ?” hollering for all to hear.

“No thank you, Wally. As you can see all six were greeted deliciously by my tummy—yummy, yummy, and more yummy.” Well that did it. Wally ran into the kitchen and started throwing every item on the menu at me. I had my mouth opened and swallowed as many desserts as possible. But there were just too many, even for a fatty like me.

But after an hour he got tired and frustrated. He came over and asked, “Why can't you be like all the other normal customers that come in? Why can't you complain, yell, threaten to beat me up, sue me, or just plain storm out? Don't you understand how much I crave and need that? I love sweets but for some unknown reason I have a ‘sweets phobia' and I just can't eat them. It might be because when I was young my parents told me that sweets were poison. I tried every­thing—doctors, psychiatrists, hypnotists—but none of them could cure me. It's killing me watching others eat my deliciously luscious creations.

I told him to close his eyes and repeat after me, “Sweets are neat (pause). The best to eat (pause). From head to feet (pause). Makes life complete (pause). The best of treats (pause). Juices secrete (pause). Repeat! Repeat! Repeat!”

After each pause, I shoved a different dessert in his mouth. Being true to my Dodo nature, I also took a swallow. We did this for about an hour after which he joyously shouted, “I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE! SWEETS AREN'T POISON. MY PARENTS WERE WRONG,” and magically his phobia vanished in a slurping ecstasy.