so the McDonald’s saga came to a rather anticlimactic close last evening, as I received a phone call from a McDonald’s customer service representative. She was too nice on the phone, but I suppose it is not so bad to have someone call you up and offer you free food for the mistakes they have made.
now if only that ass at work who keeps throwing my towel on the ground after 5:15pm would buy me a meal. Not that I would forgive him, that stupid fat ugly jerk. It would lessen my rage, however. Passive-agressive, tree-hugging little piece of chipmunk-shit: do you bike to work? every day? or do you drive your little hippie car? that really saves the frikkin’ planet, you dawdling along every day in your fucking KIA. I have no idea who you are, but I know you are there doing “mousercise” at 5PM. on top of it, you’re a wussy too. I don’t care that there is a note on the wall asking people not to leave towels hanging on the hooks. There are 10 hooks. You are one person. Is my towel hurting you? Because your stupidity is hurting me!
back to the McDonald’s case. Apparently some gift certificates are in the mail- yeah! now, it’s time for all the parents whose children are morbidly obese to complain to Micky-D’s; after all, the company did ingratiate itself with them at an early age, convincing them that happiness is synonymous with eating several pounds of low-quality ground meat bathed in a “secret” grey-mayonnaise-based sauce. And how in the bejeezus is Ronald McDonald not fat as hell? bulimia? lipo?
also, since when did “curvy” become the new euphemism for “so obese that it takes you and your best friend to wrap your arms around me?” “Curved in the way that the Earth is curved” would be more appropriate. and accurate.
alas, I haven’t much to report, other than the unending stomach-ache of alienation and utter boredom. I shall be in Chapel Hill this weekend, where I hope to assuage my tormented stupidity by cooling it off with all the vodka I left in Paul’s freezer (incidentally, if you read this Paul, please don’t forget about the liquor before you go to France). and when will France become “Robo-France 27?” Obviously, the French need to get there asses in gear. However else will the tyranny of chickens spread throughout the “civilized world?”
ok children, it is obvious that this weekend I need to get into some sort of trouble so that I can post something funny on here.
love and hugs, and reject all anti-taco legislation,