You follow the agent into the restaurant. She scurries into the restroom and immediately closes herself into a stall. You scurry in after her when you get a chance. What is she doing in there? Changing her disguise? Radioing home base? Peeing? Pooping? Who knows? Wait, wait, she is definitely pooping. Ugh. You better get out of here before she calls for backup. A sign for the new Double Angus Smoke House Burger with Cheese entices you, your mouth starts to water, and in less than five minutes you have forgetten about the potential agent.
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
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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