"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space

Can I Get a “whooooaa Bundy!”?

If your body ever tells you:

“Look, buddy. I’m starving. Let’s just take it easy today and hit up ol’ *insert fast-food restaurant that isn’t Taco Bell*! It’s quick and it would make me feel a whole lot better,” punch that bitch right in the stomach. By “that bitch” yes, I mean your own body. If you were to listen to it, it would lead to you feeling at least as bad.

Not even being a Zoologist, I happened to discover the existence of a new animal, today. I shall call it the “Rectumasaurus.” Despite it’s name, I have proof that it is not yet extinct because I ate a burger made from one this morning.

The only true way to describe the “Double Stack” that I had from Wendy’s today is that it was as if some Wizard had wasted a Level 9 spell slot to prepare and then expend a Wish spell on a McDonald’s double cheeseburger because he honestly needed to know what it would be like if food could have bowel movements. He then takes his lunch’s feces, wraps it up, hands it  to the drive-thru employee and five minutes later I find out that her shit-faced smirk had meant that she saw him cast it, watch the burger sully itself and wrap it’s fodder up for my order.

From now on, places like this should print on their food wrappers and beverage cups, instead of those cutesy, hipster-dufus slogans:
“Where’s the cat?” In giant red letters.
This will invariably lead one to think:
“What? What is that referring to…? What cat?”
On the inside of the wrapper/bottom of the cup then, will be printed for you to see upon finishing:
“The cat that just shit in your mouth.”

The disgust I felt while forcing myself to eat this abomination has to be no less than something like what a child molester truely feels in his heart. That voice however buried inside it might be saying:
“Dude. Just stop.”
I haven’t felt that disgusted by food since my old friend once heated in the microwave, a set of frozen, boxed White Castle burgers. The foulness that filled the air can only be described by the idea of a rotten horse vagina, flash-fried and left on the counter. Taco Bell does have the ability to make a person feel like he has imbibed garbage. However it tastes better than fast-food burgers, “taste” meaning: salt, grease and that oddly decrepit vinegar-like sensation that just seems out of place. Not to even mention the texture… like eating socks you’ve worn all day, coming in out of the rain.

So thanks, Dave Thomas. Your pregnant mother is my first stop when I get my time machine. The very trip would be worth the anguish of a single day, for me. I’m sticking to raw fish and eel wrapped in rice. Even if I have to grow and sell drugs to support it.

Nancy Botwin doesn’t give a shit if it’s dolphin-safe.

-Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Leave a Reply




You can use these HTML tags

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>