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
Yes, it's the perfect form for surviving a car crash. But it's also the perfect form for so much more, like surviving the trauma of reading any news headline in 2016.
It's just a little confusing, is all.
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