I've always been a fan of fast food, because there's nothing like a greasy stain on your sweatshirt to commemorate a future heart attack. The following story captures what I managed to remember from my adventure to Burger King last year, and why I no longer visit that septic pit of an eatery.
A while back I faced a complicated predicament. I could either eat at Burger King, which was across the street from my house, or McDonald's, which was down three blocks. The reason this decision was complicated: I live in the nasty part of town. By nasty, I mean 3 dollar lap dance strip clubs. Gritty, slime ball characters that speak with a Boston accent, even though they were born and raised in Seattle. Dirty restaurants that serve cat, and Chinese restaurants that serve chicken. Dangerous people, disgusting sidewalks and random gang fights breaking out at random hours of the night.
Anyway, the cleanliness at these local eateries was questionable, and the hygiene of the McEmployees was intolerable. I wasn't sure, so I decided to go for the King. God, did I regret that decision. It was the night I experienced the miracle of birth. Out of my ass.
What did I learn from this? Nothing. I still frequent Taco Bell and other similar trash bins of fats, carbs and human waste. There's no price tag on my dignity. Well, maybe there is, but isn't life just something we should waste? I read that we all become little glowing children and get to prance around a city of gold and clouds. Honestly, sounds a little gay to me, but eternal life had to have a catch.
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