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Funny and/or Strange Journal Uncategorized

I Ate This: My Kid Tweeted It

I’m ashamed of my meal, but proud of my daughter. She took artistic license–probably because she didn’t want to reference her dad on twitter–but this was my sandwich–at 3″ x 3″ inches of dry, chewy tastelessness of it.

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It was like this: we were in a hurry and didn’t want to take the time to go to a real restaurant, so we went to Wendy’s, but we don’t generally eat this stuff and the menu confused me–all the sandwiches have nicknames that aren’t all that illuminating, and a bunch of the sandwiches cost five or six bucks but then there are options for “meals” so I panicked and asked the clerk: I just want a plain old burger with some ketchup and onions.

Note: I said onions. Plural. It’s funny how they missed on that, but seized on the word “old.” Serves me right, though. I’m the one who pulled into Wendy’s. I’m the one who bowed to the pressure of that big bright board of choices, and the line forming behind me. I got what I deserved. I guess.

By JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels, growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.

6 replies on “I Ate This: My Kid Tweeted It”

There were some room temperature fries, too–the thing is, I get in there and I don’t understand what all the names mean and don’t want to hold up the line asking what’s on this or what’s on that and then I start thinking that it’s sinful to spend $6.00 on a fast food sandwich for one of the palatable-looking ones, so I go basic and just ask for a simple burger, and it’s never good. I had a big mac several months ago In Latrobe, PA and it was dry and cold. I’m done with fast food–not because of ethics or health, but because it is executed so poorly, but employees who aren’t treated well enough to give a shit–and who can blame them?

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