The Fast Food Shit List
It has already been established that food is bad.
Most heinous is Ranch Dressing, the “Anti-Christ of Condiments.”
Below are a few of the venders of consumptive goods that have raised saint or shade’s ire. These places have brought great shame upon themselves and dishonor their children for ten generations. Beware these fiends, for they are actually fronts for the Brain Police.
Gumby’s Pizza — The Kings of No Cheese
International House of Pancakes — money laundering and CIA safe-houses’s — want a sandwich to go with that mayo?
Burger King — thanks for the thimble of barbecue...
Sonic — they don’t have barbecue sauce
Whataburger — they don’t have barbecue sauce either!
Wendy’s — new uses for feta cheese
Streets of New York — No cheese, too much ranch... must be a Gumby’s satellite
Pizza Heaven — Just what the phuq is "Swill Cheese"?!?
General purpose rants:
the coffee conspiracy? — potential evidence of California shenanigans (be sure to check out saint’s peshar on this, too)
A. J. once reserved a table a year in advance Chez Robert where a huge, icy gourmet broods over the greatest food in the world. So baneful and derogatory is his gaze that many a client, under that withering blast, has rolled on the floor and pissed all over himself in convulsive attempts to ingratiate.
So A. J. arrives early with six Bolivian Indians who chew coca leaves between courses. And when Robert, in all his gourmet majesty, bears down upon the table, A. J. looks up and yells: “Hey, Boy! Bring me some ketchup!”
(Alternative: A. J. whips out a bottle of ketchup and douses the haute cuisine.)
Thirty gourmets stop chewing at once. You could have heard a soufflé drop. As for Robert, he lets out a bellow of rage like a wounded elephant, runs to the kitchen and arms himself with a meat cleaver. ... The Sommelier snarls hideously, his face turning a strange iridescent purple. ... He breaks off a bottle of Brut Champagne ... ’26. ... Pierre, the Head Waiter, snatches up a boning knife. All three chase A. J. through the restaurant with mangled, inhuman screams of rage. ... Tables overturn, vintage wine and matchless food crash to the floor. ... Cries of “Lynch him!” ring through the air. An elderly gourmet with the insane bloodshot eyes of a mandril, is fashioning a hangman’s knot with a red velvet curtain cord. ... Seeing himself cornered and in imminent danger of danger of dismemberment at least, A. J. plays his trump card. ... He throws out his head and lets out a hog call; and a hundred famished hogs he had stationed nearby rush into the restaurant, slopping the haute cuisine. Like a great tree Robert falls to the floor in a stroke where he is eaten by the hogs: “Poor bastards don’t know enough to appreciate him.” says A. J.
Robert's brother Paul emerges from retirement in a local nut house and takes
over the restaurant to dispense something he calls the “Transcendental
Cuisine.” ... Imperceptibly, the quality of the food declines
until he is serving literal garbage, the clients being too intimidated by the
reputation of Chez Robert to protest.
The Clear Camel Piss Soup with boiled Earth Worms
The Filet of Sun-Ripened Sting Ray
basted with Eau de Cologne and garnished with nettles
The After-Birth Suprême de Boeuf,
cooked in drained crank case oil,
served with a piquant sauce of rotten egg yokes
and crushed bed bugs
The Limburger Cheese sugar cured in diabetic urine
and doused in Canned Heat Flamboyant
“Garbage God damn it. Cook this wise citizen in his own swill!”