Bah, the line is already out the door. This is bullshit. How are you supposed to eat a Double Angus Smoke House Burger with Cheese if you have to wait twelve minutes? It's okay, you've been telling people you're Buddhist, so this is a good test. Follow the eight fold path to a biggie meal.
Eventually, you get your food. You spread out on the little table, Biggie Root Beer, Biggie French Fries, a Frostie Jr., your big ass burger, and a few extra Honey Mustards for dipping. Mmmm, is there anything in life more enjoyable than your first French Fry?
Wait, what the fuck? What is this mushy trash? What kind of self-respecting worker would serve this garbage? Do they expect me to suffer through this? Hell no. Hell no.
Ask for new ones
Make a mess.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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