I Wish I were More into Bondage.
So, I have this horrible problem. It's not that I'm stupid, or virtually hairless (except my calves, what's up with that?) or that I lack a certain... Je ne sais quoi.
It's that I'm addicted to McDonald's.
Hello, my name is Brian. (response: Hi, Brian!)
I have a problem. I love going to McDonald's. I don't really like the food. I'm not a big fan of the prices. But for some reason, the convenience of this place is just too much to bear when I'm doing things like dogsitting, working out, or breathing.
(response: mumbled affirmations)
Perhaps it's the ever-more-prevalent ad campaign. Perhaps I just operate with a total sense of impunity since I can't seem to gain weight no matter what I do. Perhaps it's just that I shouldn't be allowed to shop for myself. Whatever it is, I find that I enjoy punishing myself with fatty greasy blandness every chance I get.
(response: Amen)
Today, for example, I went to a Mickey D's on south Big Bend, near Key Lime Avenue. I waited at the drive-through for so long that a car two spots ahead of me, having already ordered, gave up in frustration and left. This seemed to throw off the cashiers, who started screaming to the food-giver-outters that the car directly in front of me had pulled in and was trying to steal food, which they weren't. This also led the cashiers to tell me I owed 24 dollars and 16 cents, when in fact I only owed $4.54.
I told the cashier "No, I only ordered one value meal, you told me it was $4.54," and gave her a twenty. She asked a manager to clear out a different order, apparently the driveaway, and then she turned to me and said, "Alright, sorry about that. Four fifty-four." I told her I'd already given her the money, and she looked very confused, like I'd just told her I'd rather have a venti half-soy half-skim double-shot mocha no-whip. Then she looked down at the bill in her hand, smiled, and resumed innanely pushing buttons and making weird facial expressions at the cash register.
Between pulling into the drive-through and when I finally left, I think I spent about 10 minutes. Ten very agonizing minutes.
And I'm sure I'll be there again tomorrow. Why can't I just wear a gimp suit and be spanked like normal masochists?
So, I have this horrible problem. It's not that I'm stupid, or virtually hairless (except my calves, what's up with that?) or that I lack a certain... Je ne sais quoi.
It's that I'm addicted to McDonald's.
Hello, my name is Brian. (response: Hi, Brian!)
I have a problem. I love going to McDonald's. I don't really like the food. I'm not a big fan of the prices. But for some reason, the convenience of this place is just too much to bear when I'm doing things like dogsitting, working out, or breathing.
(response: mumbled affirmations)
Perhaps it's the ever-more-prevalent ad campaign. Perhaps I just operate with a total sense of impunity since I can't seem to gain weight no matter what I do. Perhaps it's just that I shouldn't be allowed to shop for myself. Whatever it is, I find that I enjoy punishing myself with fatty greasy blandness every chance I get.
(response: Amen)
Today, for example, I went to a Mickey D's on south Big Bend, near Key Lime Avenue. I waited at the drive-through for so long that a car two spots ahead of me, having already ordered, gave up in frustration and left. This seemed to throw off the cashiers, who started screaming to the food-giver-outters that the car directly in front of me had pulled in and was trying to steal food, which they weren't. This also led the cashiers to tell me I owed 24 dollars and 16 cents, when in fact I only owed $4.54.
I told the cashier "No, I only ordered one value meal, you told me it was $4.54," and gave her a twenty. She asked a manager to clear out a different order, apparently the driveaway, and then she turned to me and said, "Alright, sorry about that. Four fifty-four." I told her I'd already given her the money, and she looked very confused, like I'd just told her I'd rather have a venti half-soy half-skim double-shot mocha no-whip. Then she looked down at the bill in her hand, smiled, and resumed innanely pushing buttons and making weird facial expressions at the cash register.
Between pulling into the drive-through and when I finally left, I think I spent about 10 minutes. Ten very agonizing minutes.
And I'm sure I'll be there again tomorrow. Why can't I just wear a gimp suit and be spanked like normal masochists?
posted by Brian at 1:31 PM
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