____. . .I
don't know if I should laugh or wet the bed in terror.
BURGER
KING
If
I were ever to wake up one morning, open the shades, and be greeted
face-to-face with a giant, plastic-grinning king holding a sandwich,
I think I'd flip the fuck out, scream a lot, and kick said king in
the face. And god help the entire universe if I wake up in bed next
to him. No amount of crying in the shower and scrubbing with steel
wool will ever be enough to cleanse myself of the shame from all of
the drunken Burger sex that definitely happened the night before.
It would be so bad that I'd have no choice but to become a serial
killer or mutant serial killer. Or start a goth poetry website to
express my evil, dark pain and give people a window into my tortured
soul. Look at his face. Look at his stupid, eerie fucking grin.
You just want to kick him in the teeth. You know he's about to say,
"Verily, you were an animal last night, loyal subject. I decree
that thou shalt be my Royal Secretary of Rim-Jobs. Here be a
sandwich. Thou must eat it to replenish thy strength as we prepare
for round two! Hear ye, hear ye! These pipes shall be cleaned!" No
thanks, Burger King. What's worse is that the sandwiches look
pretty delicious, but I'm too afraid of regal rape to eat one.
Buying a breakfast sandwich is just the slip-up the Burger King is
waiting for us to make so he can put on the moves. "An eighth of my
kingdom for a royal blowjob!"
If
I were ever to wake up one morning, open the shades, and be greeted
face-to-face with a giant, plastic-grinning king holding a sandwich,
I think I'd flip the fuck out, scream a lot, and kick said king in
the face. And god help the entire universe if I wake up in bed next
to him. No amount of crying in the shower and scrubbing with steel
wool will ever be enough to cleanse myself of the shame from all of
the drunken Burger sex that definitely happened the night before.
It would be so bad that I'd have no choice but to become a serial
killer or mutant serial killer. Or start a goth poetry website to
express my evil, dark pain and give people a window into my tortured
soul. Look at his face. Look at his stupid, eerie fucking grin.
You just want to kick him in the teeth. You know he's about to say,
"Verily, you were an animal last night, loyal subject. I decree
that thou shalt be my Royal Secretary of Rim-Jobs. Here be a
sandwich. Thou must eat it to replenish thy strength as we prepare
for round two! Hear ye, hear ye! These pipes shall be cleaned!" No
thanks, Burger King. What's worse is that the sandwiches look
pretty delicious, but I'm too afraid of regal rape to eat one.
Buying a breakfast sandwich is just the slip-up the Burger King is
waiting for us to make so he can put on the moves. "An eighth of my
kingdom for a royal blowjob!"