MR. KRABS CONSPIRACY STORY

Shift of my miserable life— all I do is flip patties and make burgers. How long have I been stuck here working with this useless dead-end job, lining the pockets of that crustaceous cheapskate Mr. Krabs while I walk home with pennies? With every passing day, I become more and more like Squidward, sitting up there and doing the absolute bare minimum, dull and lifeless and hopelessly self-loathing. I used to come into work with some soul, but he was always as unenthusiastic as he could possibly be. Now look what he's done—he's drained all the enthusiasm out of me. How could anyone want to come in here when that's the face they see from the front door? But besides his sausage face, our customer base was just as bad. Just look at all those soulless fish chewing their lives away in this dump. What enjoyment do they get out of this? They all literally look like zombies. If I could find out just one thing, it would be what addictive chemical Mr. Krabs is lacing these patties with to keep his customers coming back. He's always raved about a secret formula as if anything has ever been consistent about the recipe. The only thing that stayed the same over all these years is the empty expression on the faces of everyone who eats here and the fact that everyone who eats here does so every single day. I know it; I see the same faces every shift at the same time of day, day in and day out. I don't get it. What a crook Mr. Krabs is. He's not just the cheapest cheapskate in all of Bikini Bottom; he's also ruining the lives of all these unsuspecting fish and using me as part of his shady operation. All the while, he pays me dirt. It's not right. I can't take it anymore. I'm the backbone of this operation. I flip the patties, I make the burgers, I put in the work, and Mr. Krabs just sits in his office all day counting the money. If he wants to be a menace to all these stupid fish, that's fine. But I know what I deserve—I deserve a raise. But no, he'll never give me a raise. He's been paying me the same wage since I started working. He hasn't even adjusted for inflation. At this rate, I'll never be able to move up in life. I'll be stuck in that rotting pineapple forever. But that cursed crab doesn't care that I have to sell my body on the streets of Rock Bottom just to make a living. Even after working full-time for him, my sponge holes just aren't the same after so many years of being handled by all those deep-sea creatures. That's it. I don't care what he says. I'm doing it. I'm asking for a raise. Don't try to stop me, Squidward. My mind is made up. Every time I reach his door, I could never work up the courage to do it. I knew I had to be calm, cool, and collected about this and not be forceful with my approach. I used a light touch, but there was no response. I slowly opened the door, trying not to act like a nuisance. Mr. Krabs was sitting at his desk, looking like he always did—like a crazed maniac, a complete psycho. I've grown to be terrified by the sight of him alone, and it's no wonder why. "SpongeBob, me boy, what are you doing lurking in me doorway? Come in or get out!" I walked in with a tremor in my step and quietly closed the door behind me. "Go on, take a seat. Have you forgotten your manners?" "No, Mr. Krabs, thank you. Which seat should I take? The one on the right or the one on the left? What about your right or my left?" "I'm not really sure if it's my job. What are you wasting me time for? You're slowing down me business." "I'm sorry, Mr. Krabs. I just wanted to ask you something." "What is it? Come on now, spit it out already." I could barely speak through the giant lump in my throat. I've never been more scared in my life, but I finally got the guts to take the chance of speaking my mind. "Mr. Krabs, may I please have a raise?" "What did you just say, boy?" "I-I said, can I please have a raise, Mr. Krabs?" "How dare you, pipsqueak!" Suddenly, my worst fears were realized as Mr. Krabs climbed up onto his desk with those jagged spindly legs of his and lunged at me. I bolted at the last second and ran through the service door into the kitchen. Then I dipped into the freezer room to hide and cowered behind some boxes farther inside than I ever have to go to grab the patties. That's when I saw something I've never seen before. Inside the boxes labeled "Secret Formula," there was a mangled, blubbery meat inside the box which had to be nothing else than the mutilated flesh of a whale. It had to be from Pearl herself or her relatives, or her real parents. It's the only explanation as to why Mr. Krabs randomly adopted an orphan whale in the first place. "SpongeBob, I'm sorry, me boy, but now that I know you've seen me secret formula, I can't let you go. You know that, don't you?" "Yes, I know. And don't run away, boy. Make this easy for both of us."