You get in the mood for certain cravings. You know how it is...chocolate chip cookie dough blizzard, krispy kreme glazed heaven, excuse me...I meant to say donut, and of course...Black Forrest Gummie bears. Again, you know how it is.
Something overpowers your mind and while you had full inteded to go directly to the bank, the grocery store, and then home...somehow you get sidetracked. You find yourself turning into Burger King with visions of Cheeseburgers dancing in your head. liek a zombie you slowly pull out your wallet, hit the drive through, and kindly place your order for three cheeseburgers. (What? Don't give me that look when I can't even see you! You, all condescending and pias! I was hungry. It's better for you then ordering 2 cheeseburgers and a large fry...is it not? I rest my case)
Then it hits me...I hate going through the drive through at Burger King. Hate it!!!! They take forever. Why? Why must they take so long. There are barely any cars in the parking lot, it is clearly after lunchtime as the hour hand zooms past 1pm, and there I sit, like a nin-come-poop waiting in line at the BK for a cheeseburger that I could have just as easily done without. I can do nothing 'cuz they already have my money. Now they have my time as well. And all the sudden, after roughly 3 years of my life pass me by, they motion for me to pull forwad, and hand a small paper bag with steam rolling off the top. I pull forward as the aroma of fresh (sort-of) hot burger and melted cheese fills the interior of my poor, humble, podmobile. I pop out the first little bundle of joy, unwrap, and sink my teeth into what experts could only describe as a fat bath waiting to pre-maturely carry me to my grave. I smile. The second burger went down just as nice and as tasty. The thrid and final was a tad bit difficult to fit down the 'ol hatch, but my friend, the stomach, with whom I have a very good friendship, made some room on the side. You see, my stomach and I have been friends for a very long time. We've had kind of a pact, a contract if you will...one that states if I am friendly toward smy stomach, and heed to its completely legitamate requests of fatty burgers, salty pizza, buttery popcorn, and Black forrest gummie bears, it promises to do all it can to keep thing nice and civil like down below. It's like the hulk...you would like it when it gets mad, but then again, what else would you expect from a person living in TheWorld Gone Mad.
Something overpowers your mind and while you had full inteded to go directly to the bank, the grocery store, and then home...somehow you get sidetracked. You find yourself turning into Burger King with visions of Cheeseburgers dancing in your head. liek a zombie you slowly pull out your wallet, hit the drive through, and kindly place your order for three cheeseburgers. (What? Don't give me that look when I can't even see you! You, all condescending and pias! I was hungry. It's better for you then ordering 2 cheeseburgers and a large fry...is it not? I rest my case)
Then it hits me...I hate going through the drive through at Burger King. Hate it!!!! They take forever. Why? Why must they take so long. There are barely any cars in the parking lot, it is clearly after lunchtime as the hour hand zooms past 1pm, and there I sit, like a nin-come-poop waiting in line at the BK for a cheeseburger that I could have just as easily done without. I can do nothing 'cuz they already have my money. Now they have my time as well. And all the sudden, after roughly 3 years of my life pass me by, they motion for me to pull forwad, and hand a small paper bag with steam rolling off the top. I pull forward as the aroma of fresh (sort-of) hot burger and melted cheese fills the interior of my poor, humble, podmobile. I pop out the first little bundle of joy, unwrap, and sink my teeth into what experts could only describe as a fat bath waiting to pre-maturely carry me to my grave. I smile. The second burger went down just as nice and as tasty. The thrid and final was a tad bit difficult to fit down the 'ol hatch, but my friend, the stomach, with whom I have a very good friendship, made some room on the side. You see, my stomach and I have been friends for a very long time. We've had kind of a pact, a contract if you will...one that states if I am friendly toward smy stomach, and heed to its completely legitamate requests of fatty burgers, salty pizza, buttery popcorn, and Black forrest gummie bears, it promises to do all it can to keep thing nice and civil like down below. It's like the hulk...you would like it when it gets mad, but then again, what else would you expect from a person living in TheWorld Gone Mad.
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