I realized I'm a master of beatboxing. I walked up to a table and I was all like, "Yo, yo boom boom chicka boom boom BOP wicka wicka can i t-t-t-tizza tizza take your o-ora-ora orda?" Then I'm all lyke:

"Yo dawgs, I dropped some PHAT SHIT!
Ya betta leave a PHAT TIP!
Or I blast ya wit my autoMATIC!
I solve complex math equations with a formula called quadRATIC!"

Then my boss was in the background mixing it up on her turntables like WICKA WICKA WICKA!!! Then we all turned black and wore bandanas and wife beaters. The customers turned into hot chicks and they danced around on the tables. I hopped in my six-four and cruised around the kitchen while making hand gestures at all the good-looking hostesses. That's when the lights cut out in the dining room and crazy lights started flashing everywhere. Someone loaded a bowl into the fog machine and everyone in the place started whacking out and seeing blocks. That's about when I grabbed myself a few hotties and went into the janitors closet.

I'm just kidding, that never happened. Actually, a few elderly people came in and I served them halibut.