Almost every other day, at around 12pm, I leave my cubicle world to go get some poison to ingest. I drive down to the local poison center and speak through the little confession box, telling the person on the other side what brand of poison I want, and how much of it I want. We then agree on a fair price and I pull up slowly to pay my dues.
Ok. I don’t know about anyone else, but I always feel like that whenever I go to get fast food. Not only does the food I get at those places makes me feel like I am going in a pool of cooking oil, but the people working at these joints also make me feel like I am setting myself up for a life time of doom and misery. Its kind of funny actually. The people serving you at a fast food joint is like a before and AFTER of what will happen to you after you eat the food. But I never actually see these people eat the food, so its even scarier for me think that maybe just being around this food and smelling it could make you balloon out of control and slimy, crust filled, muck would craw out of the pores in your face. :roll:
Seriously, you think I am joking, but can you remember the last time you pulled up to the drive in and thought to yourself, “she’s hot.” Probably never… More like, “fuck I hope she didn’t touch my food”, or “fuck I think I loss my appetite.”
But I shouldn’t be complaining, because even though I know that the food I am eating is going to kill me, I keep coming back. I buy the food, and then as I eat it, I get shivers down my spine thinking about how my arteries are being bombarded by millions of sticky fat cells piling up. It’s like a scene from “requiem for a dream”, except that instead of cells moving fast through my arteries, the cells are in traffic gridlock like its after work hours on an LA highway.
Poison… absolute poison… and as I type this, I am putting more poison in my mouth. I feel its menacing effects pouncing away at my lethargic heart, and I can feel the grease on my finger tips smearing into the grooves of my keyboard. I need to cook. :-(