McSon of a…
Ah McDonalds, where the shambling, soulless oiks who failed the intelligence test required to be algae serve up barely edible cardboard in the name of capitalism.
And yet, we keep going back?
Today, a startingly moronic individual handed me my “meal” with that oh so familiar vacant expression and a grunt of “thereyago”, I retired to the torture device they pass as a seat and prepared myself for the veritable feast which awaited.
I chose the large Big Mac meal, as follows…
Big Mac – Lukewarm, dry, all the flavour of a week dead rodent
Fries – Fried what? No potato has ever tasted like this!
Orange Juice – Because as is so often the case, one of the worker-orcs had jammed his hand into the machinery or some other foolishness and the fizzy beverage dispenser was still clogged with unspeakable lumps
But what’s this, what’s happening, could it be? IT IS!
A British man has complained!
Oh yes folks, I complained.
I wasn’t foolish enough to do it to the face of someone who could quite conceivably cast a hex on me, but I contacted them via e-mail and eagerly await the results!
And why this time, why not one of the hundred other occasions on which I was dissatisfied with their service?
Simple, I needed material for the blog.
Al out net-heads.