Molestation at McDonalds: A Horror Story

My day had a startling awakening. I found it to be an almost incomprehensibly frigid 55 degrees Farenheight in my fantastic and legendary apartment. In addition, to my dismay, I could not locate my favorite Argyle patterned cotton wool mixture heavy duty MADE IN AMERICA winter socks. AND I was hungry. Such a ghastly tragedy at such an early hour (11:35 am Eastern). I am not sure I could fathom a more frustrating opening sequence to the legendary narrative that was my life. Thoughts started to concoct in my thick head that today could already be perhaps shaping to be the worst of my entire life.

Then the really absurd started to happen. Fast forward to me standing in line, just properly queuing at McDonalds discussing the finer aspects of religion with a complete religious enthusiast. He was wearing some type of silly head gear (a fez I believe they're called).
I barked at him "Religion in a morel travesty, dangerous, and a complete insult to logic and, moreoever, proper decency and good taste. Shame on you Sir. Do not babble nonsense rhetoric about Jesus coming to save me! If God truly existed, then why were my socks misplaced JUST this morning?" My mind began to wander. I was becoming heated and I was beginning to forget what I was going to order. My eyes raced across the bright glows of the McDonalds menu with it's tempting reds and yellows, scrumptous looking egg sandwiches and glistening bacon, dripping with temptation of the highest form.

The religious man shut up for a change and I was now reciting my order over and over in my head. I imagined exactly how the food should look when it is served to me. Everything should be neat and precise. Like it looks in the advertisement. I began to shudder at the the thought of a misarranged platter or subpar food when I was hastily accosted by a mentally ill crackhead. He was an African American man, so filthy and stink ridden that it made it impossible to guess his age. A blue jumpsuit adorned his feeble body and hunched posture.

"Hands off me at once you filthy mouthbreather! I should have you arrested for battery this instant!" I bellowed at him. Half of the restaurant was now focusing a portion of their weak attention spans on me. I was staring at the bum with revulsion boring straight into his glazed over eyes.

"C'mon man, I'm homeless and hungry. Lemme get a dollar for a hamburger. C'mon mayne" he pleaded. He then embraced me and drooled on my shoulder. I was shocked and angry all at once, disgusted and furious. I felt emotion well inside of me.
"You IMBECILE! You have slobbered on me in your rhapsody at the thought of food! Control yourself and do not touch me! I will now inform the management of this transgression and your fate is soon to be sealed. You shall be banned from this establishment all together." I now began swearing and demanding the attention of the ladies behind the counter.
"You FOOLS, have you not just witnessed the crackhead drooling on me? Get me a napkin at ONCE! Hurry, I must wipe the spit off my jacket! It might be contaminated with AIDS!" They instructed me to procure a napkin from the area adjacent to the soda filling station.

Needless to say, I lost my position in line. The bum began to make his way towards the door with a look of sorrow and regret to his face. Then in the next instant, I presume because of his mental incapacity to remain calm, he snapped. He shouted "FUCK YOUUU FATTY" very loudly and stormed out of the restaurant.

Now perhaps screaming at the ghetto trashbag for drooling on my favorite jacket was a little unnecessary and rude, especially in a fine dining establishment such as McDonalds, but for him to call me FATTY in front of everyone is just as rude and uncalled for. Normally, I would defend anyones RIGHT to say anything they want anywhere, as freedom of speech is protected by the First Amendment, and we are living in AMERICA after all. But to call me fat, well that's just his stupid opinion, and his stupid opinion is wrong at that. Therefore it's a lie, and I don't think lying is allowed in this great nation of ours. In addition, I believe that homeless people aren't protected under the Constitution (it's been a while since I've read it. It's not like I'm some brown nose politician who keeps a copy on his or her desk. gufflol).

I can't help it if my presence is too much for one to bear. If I eat too much, or talk too loudly in the middle of a movie, well SORRRRY. Sometimes I forget that I live in the land of the FREE, and I'm not allowed to excersize my RIGHTS inside of a movie theater. Why not just lock me up in Guantanamo Bay for being a terrorist. I'll eat my cheesesteaks, french fries, mountain dew, free-tohs and ice cream in a movie theater if I so please, and if you don't like my talking, well then you can get out of my country.

I am an extremely talented and well liked person and honestly can't risk contracting AIDS from a bum who molests me and pleads for my change. I've got too much going for me right now. I'm going to catch my big break soon, I know it. I guess it wasn't the worst day ever, but it was pretty god damn close.

Oh, and the picture is unrelated to story, although I did masturbate it to it. It's an Audi R8.

What does the SuperBowl and Canned Cheeseburgers have in common?

Everyone knows that the Super Bowl is the greatest event and holiday of the year. It is highly regarded around the world and will hopefully break 100 million viewers this year. Kurt Warner and Ben Roethlisberger are both true, grisly American heros and the Cheeseburger Man approves of them.
More importantly the era of the Super Bowl has marked the epoch of American consumption. The Super Bowl has come to stand for so much more than just the championship of American Football. It has become an epitome of American culture and lifestyle, and for this reason, I absolutely adore the Super Bowl. A historic battle takes place on sacred turf while 90 million people sit on their couch, laugh at over the top commercials for Campbells Soup, Budweiser, Pizza Hut, TD Waterhouse and various American full size pickup trucks. We gorge ourselves to capacity with food, which I embarassingly confess to my audience is my favorite aspect of all.
Many have sent me emails asking for my God-like perspective on what I will be eating for the Super Bowl. I am an honest and humble man, and am not 100% in love with the idea of revealing to my audience my plans for my schmorgazboard of food delights that I will be furiously devouring with great passion, but I am giddy with excitement at the thought and cannot help myself. I am so very much better than you in every way, and my Super Bowl food will trounce yours by a long shot.
I plan on having at least 50 buffalo wings. There will be at least four types of flavourful sauces with which to envelop the tender chicken wings, including Ranch, bbq, bleu cheese, and nacho cheese. I will also have a massive 3cc, 10 gauge syringe on hand with which to inject cheese into the wings with. Besides the nacho cheese, there will be melted pepperjack. There will be 9 different flavours of DORITOS, including some out-of-production retro flavors, such as Taco (which hails from the early 70s) and "All American Classic", which is in fact a cheeseburger flavored Dorito chip.
Speaking of cheeseburgers, I have made a great discovery on the internets; cheeseburger in a can. This remarkable invention is the greatest of the decade, and I have placed an order for 3 cases for my Super Bowl celebration. Of course, I will not eat all of them in one day, but I will definitely try. Obviously their canned nature makes them suitable for later consumption. The cooking process for Canned Cheeseburger is extrodinary and wonderfully appetizing. You simply boil water in a pot and cook the can for 10 minutes before opening and feasting on its contents. I have not figured out how to cook it medium rare though, this will take some reseach. It is a German product, and I'm more than confident that it will be more scumptious than the 2008 BMW M5 Touring.
I have my doubts that they might not have enough cheese, so I will also have Kraft singles on hand (for emergency). To compliment the canned Cheeseburger, I will have hand cut Oreada Freedom Fries, topped with melted provolone, Old Bay Seasonings, vinegar, and mayonaise. There will also be beer battered onion rings, torilla chips with spinach cheese dip, chili dip and roasted artichoke salsa.
For my second course, I am preparing lamb and chicken kabobs; American style. I will neatly arrange succulent chunks of lamb, chicken and vegetables onto skewers then inject them with cheese and deep fry them. This will bring me into halftime. I have contacted Olive Garden for my third course which will hopefully arrive during the break of the football game. They are delivering a party size tray of spaghetti in a white wine scallop and clam sauce. I am currently in the process of developing a Freetoh plate in which to serve my pasta on, so that once I have eaten my share of pasta, I can enjoy eating the greasy, scallop flavored Freetoh plate afterwards. I am experimenting with crushing Freetohs and mixing them with pork fat at different termperatures before forming them into a plate, and I feel as if I am on the verge of a breakthrough.
My drink of choice for the football game will of course be Pepsi. Perhaps to celebrate the special occasion (Super Bowl is only once a year after all) I will most likely be adding sugar to my Pepsi so it can get that thickened molasses-like consistency that nature seemed to forget when making PEPSI.
To summarize: wake up morning of Super Bowl and start pounding buffalo wings like it's my last meal. Chase with Doritos and squirt hot cheese into my mouth with a syringe. Boil 8 liters of water and cook a dozen canned cheeseburgers. Deep fry lamb, pork and chicken (all injected with cheese). Free-toh plates and scallop pasta for dinner. Fall into a 2 day slumber because my heart will probably be slowed to a crawl after the 350 grams of fat, 8000 mg of sodium and 10,500 empty calories I have just eaten. CAN'T WAIT FOR THE SUPERBOWL.

My love life is like a wrecked Audi RS6 Avant

Hello to all my distinguished readers.
Today has certainly been a glorious one. I have just consumed the entire $28 value package from Atlas Pizza which is located an epic, coughing and panting journey of 3 blocks away from my home. The value package is a remarkable and epic meal. It consists of one cheese pizza pie which I loaded with crushed red pepper and Parmesan cheese, one 12" cheesesteak, 12 hot wings and a two liter plastic bottle filled with Pepsi directly from the factory.
While one would imagine that I should feel full and content after such a feast, I am left with a feeling of emptiness inside. My overworked heart feels heavy in my chest and not for the standard reasons, which is the fact that I am overweight and have a staunch refusal to exercise. I also have thickened arteries resembling that of a 50 year old man.

Anyways, I digress. The Cheeseburger Man like any living monogamous Homo Sapien on this lonely planet requires a companion of which to span time with for 1000 years. I need a woman to accompany me on my arduous journeys outside of my house to buy food and toilet paper. Perhaps she can cook for me when I am in the middle of World of Warcraft tournaments so that my Digorno's Pizzas do not overcook in the oven, or maybe she can feed me while I am in the middle of the a Gran Turismo IV Endurance Race at the Circuit de la Sarthe when one cannot afford to take his hands off the controller for even a fraction of a second.
I am going to use the rest of this post as what some might call a personal ad. I am going to also take this time to overcome some objections that might arise upon posting this.

Objection 1: "Hey Cheeseburger Man, why don't you just get on eHarmony or Match.com?"
Answer: Guffaw. EHarmony is nothing but a site for pathetic Christian losers. Why don't you go PRAY to JESUS in CHURCH on SUNDAY to fix you up with a mate? Oh, that's right, because GOD isn't real and PRAYING is an abberation to logical thinking. Match.com as well is for the lonely nonsocial types who have nothing better than to use the internet to meet someone. Might as well join /b/ looking for a mate.
Objection 2: "Unfortunate Cheseburger American, why you not take Vlad's advise? Take self to ATM and then to many lady clubs. Project [Ed: Club] Risque has many beautiful prostitute, look like 16 year old. They gives you lap dances, Cheeseburger Man, make blowout in dungarees while drink Absolut vokda on rocks."
Answer: Listen, VLAD. I know it might be European customs to spend all of your hard earned money at Gentleman's Clubs, but here, in AMERICA, we do things a little more properly, with chivalry and TACT. Making a "blowout" in your "dungarees" is truly repulsive, and it is this Cheeseburger Man's opinion that blowouts should only be made into a consenting womans birth canal with the use of a condom.
Objection 3: "Hey Fatass, why don't you try leaving your house for once? You know, go DO SOMETHING outside for a change? Go to a bar, or a bookstore and meet a girl. Join a yoga class. Or go to a gym. You're not going to meet any chicks online you pathetic troglodyte. Take me for example; I fucking work out at the gym 6 days a week. I take my suppliments and spend 30 minutes on the stairmaster. A fat loser like yourself probably think's that shit is gay. Well, lemme ask you something; how is working the largest muscle group in your body gay? Didn't think it was, it's all about dedication and giving it your all. That's ME in the gym with the UnderArmour Headband on and the cutoff sleeved Florida Gator t-shirt. You see those bulging biceps? That's the direct result of hitting the bricks hard son. You see this fucking sculpted chest? That's where Passion and Perseverance meet. You should try it sometime you geek. I got an Audi A4 and a slammin' hot hardbodied girlfriend. I don't even know if she has a brain or whatever, but she keeps her mouth shut, unless she's giving me some dome. She actually just finished using her mouth on my moan-maker. Shit was SO cash bro. Why be afraid of the unknown when you can CONQUER IT?"
Answer: Listen you coward. I don't know where you get off thinking I want to hear about your meathead gymnasium regiment or your disgusting oral sex with your bulimic, fake blond haired girlfriend. You must think the A4 is a good car huh? Couldn't afford the S4 I guess; your job as a construction worker might not afford you such a luxury. I actually personally know a girl who has a RS6 Avant and she can heel-toe downshift while wearing her Ferragamo pumps. You probably can't even drive a standard transmission. Just so you know, the steroids you're taking are making your heart just as horrible as mine. That's what the Greeks call a paradox.

Now that I have considered the effort required to find a compatible mate, I am put off. I only have enough love for food, cars, videogames, my cat and eating. A woman in my life would surely distract me from the more important aspects of my being.

Cheeseburger Man describes his dream car

The Mercedes-Benz CLK 63 AMG Black Series will go down in history perhaps as the pinnacle of the glorious and historic German brand at it's time. The brilliant Jeremy Clarkson was having an internal civil war of thoughts on what should be his personal choice for the 2008 Car of the Year. He ended up choosing the Chevrolet Corvette ZR-1. Despite the fact that I am a pretentious, biased asshole and I have never driven either one, I will still venture to say that his silly British brain must have been clogged with shephard's pie or liver and onions, or whatever it is that English people eat on a regular basis. Chunder.

If you are in the market for a supercar, now is the time to make your purchase. With depreciation values hitting the high-end car market the hardest, you can get yourself the car you never thought you could afford at a price that's absolutely outrageous instead of grotesquely unfathomable.

After eating a legendary breakfast consisting of an 18 ounce T-Bone steak, half a dozen fried eggs, half a loaf of bread and 2 pints of chocolate milk, I turned up the heat to a comatose inducing 74 degrees and flopped onto my couch, laptop by my side. My food coma kicked in per usual but between nod-outs I browsed Craigslist for cars. I have decided that I will not be purchasing an Acura, for in my opinion they have a shoddy quality that conveys a po-dunk, bottom of the barrel, scrappy vibe that I will not be associated with.

I came across the car of my dreams, the CLK 63 AMG Black Series, in black for a very affordable $85,000 American fiat currency. The list price on the car is $155,000, meaning the car has depreciated almost 40% in less than a year (this is the 2008 model) in only 4000 miles. This means that for every 100 miles the owner has driven this freakishly fast and powerful machine, the car lost 1% of it's value. This is an astronomical amount; nothing could possibly compare.

Let's look at at the stats. It weighs 3880 lbs and achieves 507 bhp at 6800 rpm from it's 6.3 liter natrually aspirated, specially tuned AMG V8, meaing it has about 295 bhp per ton, or 82 bhp/liter. That's enough to propel even my fat ass norde to 60mph in 4.2 seconds, 60-100 in 7.4, and it will top out at 186. The car sits on 19 inch forged alloy wheels, MacPhearson struts in the front and has a multi-link rear suspension, and carbon composite disc brakes all around to help slow the beast. I am certain that one could pull more than 2 G's under braking, assuming you have the driving skills to get the brakes up to proper operating temperature. Gear changes are taken care of via a 7 speed, semi-automatic gearbox with the flappy paddles on the wheel. Up on the right, down on the left, you know what it is. The flappy paddles are almost absolutely necessary because one should never take their eyes off the road on their hands off the wheel for any reason while piloting such a machine of such caliber.

What else is there to say about this car? It is perhaps my favorite of all time. It looks stunning with it's aggressive styling, its flared wheel arches and its fully functional quad exhaust pipes. I would like nothing more than to turn off the launch control and spin the Pirelli P Zero Corsa tyres until the first layer of rubber wears off, giving me some extra needed grip so that I may drive aggresively drive with passion and confidence through the Pennsylvania countryside, where the noisy engine note screams in the wind, capturing the heart of its driver for 1000 years.

This car is based on the Formula 1 Safety Car, that is, the car that deploys under a yellow flag, leading the racecars around the track in a parade until the problem is fixed. I would give up eating for an entire day, or pehaps half a day, to just have a few laps around the world renowed Fugi circuit in Japan. I can imagine bouncing the tach needle against the rev limiter in 7th gear on the backstraight, trying to lock the brakes as I approach the late apex of the first corner, but the brilliant ABS system will not allow it. I feather the throttle in ecstasy through the exit until I bounce off the kerb and stab the throttle to the floor, racing through the gears with just a squeeze of my right hand. 2nd, 3rd, 4th gear! And the sound! The scream of the V8 eminating from the tailpipes as the car stays perfectly balanced and poised as I tear through the midsection of the circuit, composed of long, sweeping, epic corners and tight chicanes. The adrenaline pumps and my heart flutters. The car can sense my every desire for speed as it begs to be pushed, pushed farther towards the limits of what is possible. I am thrown in my seat, left to right and left again as I complete the third sector of the circuit but the sporty leather bucket seats hold me firmly, planted in my seat. I complete the final turn with a perfect balance of grip and speed, so that I hardly understeer at all, and I again stab the throttle fully open, drive accross the kerb on the left, making my tyres rattle like thunder in the perfect, hilly, Japanese countryside.

Olive Garden and Gun Shopping

Today was a glorious day. I have decided to embrace my RIGHTS as an AMERICAN and buy a gun. I am tired of silly hippie tofu and granola eaters telling me about how guns are dangerous and kill people. Enough of your noise I say, silly vegetable people. I have the RIGHT.

But before I went gun shopping I had a delicious breakfast. I took the 4 minute, wheezing, exhausting journey to the end of the block to buy two orders of the breakfast special. That makes a total of 8 scrambled eggs, 10 slices of bacon (which I paid extra for), approximately 5 potatoes worth of home fries, and four slices of toast. I also ate a corn muffin and washed it down with a PEPSI.
The key to consuming such an ungodly amount of food was a secret I unlocked when I was a young teenager. I found that it takes approximately 15 minutes for your stomach to "tell" your brain that it is full. That gives you a 15 minute window to stuff your insides with as much food as physically possible. There has been more than a few times in which I thought I might have to go to the ER because I had ate so much in such a short amount of time. In fact, there was an instant last week when I went to my favorite Italian restaurant, the Olive Garden, and I consumed two full pounds of spaghetti with clam sauce (I was concerned that I had ruptured a major organ [feels good, man]). I washed it down with nearly two liters of Mountain Dew (which I brought myself. The Great Fine Dining Establishment of The Olive Garden, surprisngly does not carry Mountain Dew, or Nectar of the American Jesus, as I like to call it) and had to alert management that I would for certain fall asleep inside their establishment if they did not call me a taxi minivan right away.

I made sure to specify "Minivan" but of course, to my anger and disbelief, a normal Crown Victoria came to pick me up. I could barely fit in the cramped back seat, and my driver, Abdallah, will for sure be getting fired by now for his poor driving skills and techniques. I was most uncomfortable the whole ride home and took down his information and reported him to the Better Business Bureau of Philadelphia. Just action must be taken against this man. I felt his braking points were too early upon entry of corners, and he was very late on the throttle upon apex and exit.

I was falling in and out of consciousness like a dope addict on the nod while Abdallah was trying to remove me from his taxi vehicle. I kept telling him that I was not actually asleep, it only appeared so and that he must remove his filthy non-American hands from me at once. I informed him that many Americans died to free the people of his country in the Great Iraqi Surge of 2003. His retort was paper thin and I believe he was lying straight to my greasy, stained facial area. Abdallah informed me that he was actually from Comoros, which is an island in the Indian Ocean. However, since I have never heard of such a place, I concluded that it was nonsense and he was in fact from Iraq, so I insulted his anti-American stance against me and informed him that his taxi ride was disorganized and I felt great sympathy for the next customer that had to endure his bedeviled attitude.

I had finally made it to the gun store, wheezing and stumbling from being overstuffed. It was Lock's Philadelphia Gun Exchange. I informed the gentleman at the front desk that I was indeed and American and I had arrived on this fine day after an epic meal in order to exert my CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS and purchase a firearm. He got me acquainted with all the different brands, types and styles of guns.
There was U.S. and Firearms Company. Glock. Smith and Wesson. Ruger. Colt. Beretta. Rizzini. Walther Springfield Armory. Taurus. Armalite. Ithaca. Bushmaster.
There was shotguns. Semi-automatic shotguns. Fully automatic shotguns. Rifles. Ar-15's. Mac-90's. Mac-10's and Mac-11's. Tec-9 Uzis. MicroUzis. M16's. Pistols, GATS, snub nosed revolvers, 9mm.
There was custom stocks, banana clips, drum clips, grenades, silencers of various finishes and sizes for different needs.
My heart began to swell and I felt a head rush as he began demonstrating the different abilities of all the guns. For the first time in my life, I was silenced and could only nod my head, point and grunt the guns I wanted to see and hold.
This was setting up to be the greatest day of my life when the man behind the counter meekly informed me that I would not be allowed to leave the store today with a gun, there was a 2 week waiting period for a permit. I told him that he is surely mistaken, for I have documented proof on my persons that I am indeed an American and I am simply exerting my RIGHTS. I was born in America, I told him, I will always live in America and I will die in America. Now if he would simply sell me an M96 Expeditionary Rifle (made in the USA of the highest quality materials) I would be on my way.
He reiterated that it was simply not possible to buy a gun without the 2 week waiting period, and I was too stuffed and drunk with food to argue with this cretin any longer. I thought that if I had simply explained to him once more that I was An American with God given RIGHTS ensured by the Constitution of the United States, the very document this great country is built on, he would realize his error and sell me my hand crafted rifle.
So I left the store with heavy eyelids and hailed a cab. I stepped inside to be in the presense of ANOTHER foreigner. His name was Nirvan and I suspected him to be a terrorist for he had headgear indicitive of an Islam hatemonger, so I tried to flee out the cab immediately to find that the doors were locked. I began sweating and feeling panic. If I only had my rifle to defend myself! He told me to calm down for he was in fact a Sikh. I have never heard of this nonsense either, so I called him a liar. I decided that the American God was going to protect me on my ride home, so I told Nirvan to concentrate on his braking points and keeping a smooth throttle from launches. I had to get home alive. Scrubs was on at 4pm.

Vlad was not invited, but he showed up anyway

I was awoke today to a loud knocking at my front door. Upon further inspection of who could be causing such nonsense racket at the early hour of 12:30pm, I found my old roommate, Vlad, at my front door. He was staggering drunk, something of which I do not approve of. I was particularly enraged because my porn that took 3 days to download had just finished and I was planning a World of Warcraft raid with my gild for this afternoon, and here was Vlad, reeking of vodka, stumbling around my porch.
I informed him that his presence was causing my blood pressure to rise, and at this rate I would probably not be able to have my normal daily intake of sodium. I kindly asked Vlad to remove himself from my glorious porch at once or I will have to resort to giving him a suplex or powerbomb.

"Hello big cheeseburger man. Do not make such rubbish threats of me. I will run you over with T72 or Panzer tank. I come to say Hello to you today. We have a make conversation, yes? I live bad lifestyle of black man. Vlad can has an apple juice from your refrigerator box, yes unfortunate cheeseburger American?" At this point, Vlad pushed me right through my door frame and I nearly slipped on my wonderful wooden floor. He made a rude remark about my face having liquid cheese on it and he stumbled toward my refrigerator.

"Mr. Cheeseburgr Man, your not has any apple juice for Vlad? No yes. I only can see a Pepsi in your fridge. It is only horrible cheeseburger people that drink this Pepsi. Yes, this is horrible country" Vlad boasted as if he was not even talking to me.
"Vlad, do NOT touch my PEPSI. That is for ME and ME only! Such insolence comes from your filthy Soviet mouth! I regret to inform you that Communism is awful and I am not the least bit partial to your anti-American comments. Now if you will please remove yourself from my kitchen, I must heat up my Free-toh pie. Your impertience is raising my blood pressure by the minute. I fear that if you were to cut my neck right now, boiling blood would spurt out and stain your filthy communist clothes!"

At this point Vlad started threatening my family and insulting me words like "fat chesesteak eater" and "gluttony free-toh man". He then started raving about his driving techniques and rally skills. He kept mentioning how much fun the muddy, rocky back roads of Polska are, but he could barely retain my attention. My mind was busy trying to fathom how much better America is. I hardly ever have to worry about driving on primitive, muddy roads for "sport", I don't have to drown my organs in vodka to enjoy myself, and there is Pepsi and Chee-tohs from coast to coast to capture my heart for 1000 years of freedom.

Hello and greetings.

For breakfast I ate a can of Hormel Chili which was recently rated at 42/80 points for the Tampa Bay "St. Petersburg Times" newspaper. That makes it the top rated chili for said newspaper and perhaps the best chili I have ever consumed. It was absolutely epic and featured meat and beans along with some sauce which made it a fantastic meal in my eyes. The meat was tender, delicate and filled with meat flavor, while the beans were luscious, soft and infectious to the taste buds. To make it even better, I decided to take my hand in crafting the perfect meal. I added what some may say is primitive, American ingredients, but I beg to differ, for the additude, flavour and texture in which they provide greatly outweighs the primitive manor they suffer and lack in exquisite exclusitivity and other nonsense uncessesary food characteristics, such as thickness, fat content and sloppiness, charcateristics which I consider vital to life itself.

By the time lunch time rolled around, approximately 2 hours later, I had decided that chili was far too primitive a food for any decent man to consume and feel egrigous in its consumption. I would make a delicious dish instead to outweigh the sin in which consuming Hormel Chili has wrought upon myself. I decided to not limit myself to delicous canned chili alone. That was the key, you see? Chili itself is primitive and boring. Meat and stew alone. Chunder. It can easily be fixed though.

Here comes my lunch. Chili, FREE-TOHS, and velvetta cheese. Take the 3 ingredients and mix them together in what some might call a crude mixture, but what I call beauty. Take you're chili and simmer until it's hot. Add celery and carrots if you're in some sort of hippie health phase of your life. If not, skip the nonsense and get straight to layering FREE-TOHS, meat and velvetta cheese mixture until you feel it's sufficient to bake a pie.

Consume while still hot. If your pie isn't screaming America the second it's removed from the oven, you have failed as a consumer and a person. FREETOH PIE> hte best.

I ate this for lunch today, then went for a ride in my friends Ferrari. It was an F40. It was quite fast and had a lot of grip, but much too fast for my tastes. I had just eaten lunch. I fancy a game show or perhaps a South Park episode if I'm feeling lucky after my meal. This car goes 0-60 in virtually no time whatsoever (3.9 seconds for you math nerds) and I was hyperaware of my safety at all times I was in the car. Perhaps he will let me drive it next time.

I

PLAYOFFS! PLAYOFFS?

CLICK ON THE PICTURE TO ENLARGE IT, YOU NIT-WITTED PILLOCK.

Original Content, copyright the Cheeseburger Man, 2009. This took over 45 minutes to make so soak it all in. Perhaps read over and over along with every post on my entire website 3 times, you know you want to.

I do enjoy a Cheeseburger from time to time

Holy Shit. Hello Internet.

I had the most delicious fucking cheeseburger today. It was soft and meaty. I told the server I could detect Kansas beef in the flavor, but he argued with my greatness and assured me the meat I was consuming was raised in Nebraska. Those are both fantastic states for being able to raise such magnificent cattle for my consumption. The beef was pefectly broiled in a massive broiler (American size) and topped with 4 different types of cheeses which I can't be bothered to name individually at this point.

Actually, technically, it was 5 cheeses, count blue cheese. Six, if you count pastrami, as a cheese. But it's not. It's meat. All you vegans out there; this burger is for you. It had more than a half pound of beef by my measure, 6 types of cheeses including pastrami, mayonnaise, horseradish, oil, pepper, oil, mayonnaise, extra fat drained from the grill and thrown in the freezer until it acheived gelatin properties to be spread on my foods.

It was so delicious that I nearly swooned into a coma upon putting the last bite in my mouth. I was in such a euphoric state that when the waiter woke me up with the cheque, I forgot where I was and started harassing him. He insisted that I must pay before I fall asleep again, so I paid him for my meal, but added no tip because I felt discrimination and that the waiter was being rude in general. For example, he asked what type of cheese I want on my burger. I replied, "All types available. A miniumum of 6 would be appropirate my fine sir." His reply was a deadpan: "Really...? 6 ?"

I could tell he thought I was fat for insisting on 6 cheeses. Of course not my young squire. I only like eating. Now bring me a bag of your largest CHEE-TOHS and PEPSI to wash my Cheeseburger to the pit bottom of my endless stomach.

I am definitely a kind, giving person

"If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first, I'm too busy acting like I'm not naive, I've seen it all, I was here first." -- Nirvana, Very Ape
There comes a time in every man's life in which he must put aside the needs of others and focus on himself for a change. I am a generous person for certain but I can't always be fixated on satisfying the primitive desires of others. I have realized that I am too much of a "people pleaser" and I must take care of myself first and foremost if I am to continue my trend of reaching out and charming the masses.
It being the holiday season where the joy of giving and sharing permeates the Philadelphia atmosphere, where good will towards men becomes the norm rather than the exception, I have decided to give myself the greatest gift of all, because like I said, I truly must appease my own needs before I can help others. Gentleman, I have decided to purchase a car, but not just any car will suffice. Only the best, most tasteful car will do for a man of my stature and presence. Unfortunately, the American motor companies are garbage in this respect. Their shameful government bailout is shameful, and they will be earning no business of mine with their shoddy quality and overpriced nonsense automobiles. No Sir. The countries of Germany and Japan have warmed my heart with their superior engineering and quality for superior individuals. Imagine how much respect I will be garnering as I travel in luxury with a finely tuned, reliable Japanese automobile, or the driving passion that will be evoked as I ride in style across the crime ridden and often broken motorways of America, the greatest and most free of all countries.

I put on my finest attire, or "dressed to impress" as they say so I could make my commanding presence known the second I arrived at the dealership. This means I wore my black wool peacoat, double XL, and my driving mocassins so that I may obtain maximum traction and feel on the pedals and execute flawless heel-toe downshifts, which will most likely impress the overwhelmed salesman that is test-driving with me. I would only be visiting Acura today, for my car shopping would surely become tiresome and I am confident I would grow weary and look absolutely haggard without food for a few hours.

The walk from the subway station to the Acura dealership was an almost insurmountable 5 block journey. Two blocks into the promenade I had to change my itinerary to acquire a peach flavored Snapple to rewet my palate in the dry, almost unbearable 45 degree frigid, bitter Philadelphia winter. Alas, there was no shops to purchase my much needed Snapple, so I had to make due without it. Approaching the fifth and final leg of the trip, I had to stop for a break to regulate my breathing, but I quickly realized that I cannot wait long or hypothermia might begin to set in, the joints in my legs might begin to stiffen and freeze up and I will be destined to a fate worse than I could ever imagine.

I was approached and greeted by a somewhat scrawny but confident young fellow with a smile of gold and an air of sophistication despite his age. I wasted no time in informing him of my desire to test drive his finest vehicles available. He suggested we take a seat so that I may once again catch my breath and regain my sense of balance. In addition, he offered to purchase me a soda from one of the machines which I accepted but assured him that his kindness would in no way guarantee that I would purchase a car from him today or ever. He laughed and shrugged, seemed very cool and low key for someone with such a high pressure job, where so much is at stake. I let out a bellow and asked him about his closing skills. He laughed again, gave it a shrug, and we headed out to the inventory so I could test an RL. It was unbearably cold, so I suggested he keep his sales talks and tactics to a minimum so that we don't freeze to death. I found most of his explanations of the benefits of the car to be fluffy and borderline scandalous. He told me all about the Super Handling All-Wheel Drive system, about the traction and stability control, even the ABS and the 4 piston calipers on the brakes with great gusto.
The seat was wide and supportive enough for a man of my great stature and I felt very at home in the cockpit of this beast. The sheer grunt in a car of this size was quite impressive as well as the balance between the suspension, the comfort and the road feel. I am certain he was impressed with my driving skills and the confidence in which I exhibited my skills in knowing braking points on roads I have never driven before. The main drawback on the car was its resemblance to a japanese anime superhero.

After driving for almost a full half hour through all sorts of terrain and conditions that are suitable to my desires, we headed back to the dealership where I felt confident and ready to make a purchase. We sat down at a desk and I was offered another soda which I sipped. It was wonderful and bubbly and sweet. I love soda.
"So, you liked the car, right?" the young salesman said to me.
"Indeed I do. It is a fine piece of auto machinery and definitely the car I envision a man of my stature to be in ownership of." I gulped my delicious soda. It stung my throat a bit and a let out a belch. I felt comfortable and ready to make a deal.
"OK excellent. What were your goals for today and how can I help you at this point?"
"My goals were to establish if a car of the Acura label is befitting to me. I want to see what kind of deal you're going to offer me. I will be putting money down and financing in house so I suspect that provides you with some incentive to help me the lowest possible price."
"Of course. So I understand that you're going to buy my car now if I give you the lowest possible price. You do understand however that this is a brand new 2009 model that is quite in demand...perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself." The salesman looked at me straight in the face. He hit me directly in the eyes asking for a solid commitment and I am a strong individual and was certainly not backing down.
"Like I said, a man of my greatness demands a great car. I would like to know what price you're going to offer me in this economic downturn." My stomach began to growl and I sensed it wouldn't be more than another 30 min before I needed to eat. My mind started to wander towards delicious rotisserie chicken while the salesman pulled out a binder and started flipping through it.
"Well the RL you drove, the one you told me you want, with the Technology package and the PAX tyres has an MSRP of $53,700. I am going to be upfront with you because I like you and feel confident that we understand eachother. I need to go ask my manager how much he will let the car go for." He got up and walked upstairs to where I could see a man sitting behind a large desk. The manager had a gold bracelet on and a very nice tie. A theif I suspected, taking poor customers money, but not mine. I am informed and intelligent. A few minutes passed and I occupied my thoughts with chicken, bread and gravy.
The salesman came downstairs and presented me with a piece of paper that was truly a travesty and insult to my good sense.
"What is this NONSENSE!?" I demanded an explanation to the piece of paper with marker and numbers scrawled on it.
"I told you I'm going to be upfront with you. Now let me explain. The manager didn't even want to do this, but I convinced him you're a great customer and you're financing in house. Look at this great deal buddy, it's all right here, nothing hidden. My cost on the car is $48,212, add $670 for freight, $100 processing fee and give me $1000 profit, drive home today. I just took $4k off the MSRP and you didn't say a word." He kept his hand pinned on the paper like he didn't want me to lift it off the table.
"This, my friend is no deal to speak of. I have truly been insulted and harassed for nothing in this establishment! I WANT to buy this car and you will simply not allow me! Perhaps I should just buy the whole building! Did you run my credit while you were upstairs fiddling around with your managers and his silly markers, scrawling across this paper like it's a battlefield, a warzone of numbers and prices? This, I will simply not stand for." I felt heated and the slimy salesman looked at me with what I am sure is a practiced and seasoned look of geniune disbelief at what he was hearing.
"Hold on now, I'm not trying to insult you. You don't understand and I'm somewhat confused. I threw away nearly all my commission in one shot in order to try and make a deal with you quick and easy. Look, I asked for $1000 over invoice, which is nothing, barely pays to keep the lights on, but I might be able to do something else. Split it with me, buddy, come on, I'm working for you. You drove the car for a half hour, this is what you want!"
At this point he took a marker out and wrote on the paper "Customer offers to buy car now for invoice plus $500 plus fees. X............ :)."
"Come on, let's make a deal. Sign here and I'll get you up into financing as quickly as I can" the salesman said as he handed me the marker. My hand began to shake and I nervously began to sweat. How I needed a pot pie, or even just a chicken leg to satisfy my hunger and calm my nerves. I picked up my soda can knowing it was empty and drank the last drop. The salesman was just staring at me, waiting. I knew that if I talked first, I lost, but I didn't know what to do. Oh how I just needed a bag of Chee-Tohs and another Pepsi.
The salesman told me to take a deep breath and relax. He assured me I was getting a great deal, but how can anyone trust these people with their hair gel and clean shaven faces, their gold chains and expensive ties?
"Buddy, listen. This is a premium car and you're getting it nearly on cost. This doesn't happen. Try walking into Lexus and telling them you want to buy a car on invoice. No offense, but they would laugh at you. Either that or not smile at all and tell you that's simply not feasible. The only thing missing from this deal is a gun and a mask because this is a steal." He smiled, seemed somewhat amused with himself and leaned back nervously. I was not amused, although this began to feel like some elaborate circus of a slimy dealership.
"I'm sorry, that was a bad car sales joke. Disregard that. But seriously, let's make this happen. What would YOU like to happen. Just tell me what I need to do to get you to drive home with this car now. You don't want to take the subway home again, right?"
I felt a pricking sensation in my left arm and the desire to just sign on the dotted line with my right. I tried to convince myself that I wanted nothing more than to enter a legal binding contact for a lavish vehicle that I could show off to all the ladies of this great Philadelphia, riding around Rittenhouse Square and past Town Hall in style, but perhaps I have too much pride to play games with these clowns. Car salesman, ha! What a low profession. It ranks down there between janitors and people that pick up shit off the streets for money.
I stood up from my cushy seat and buttoned my jacket. The salesman's eyes grew wide and his brow became furrowed. He knew that his great efforts would not be rewarded today or ever with someone as highly logical and intelligent as myself.
"Surely you aren't going to leave a deal like this on the table, are you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, kind sir, but this fantastic show you have put on for me is now over. Ended. If you will please excuse me, I do believe I need a cheeseburger."