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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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- Chocolate Lovin at McDonalds -
Well, Wrath Master and I just returned from a trip to the local McDonalds.
It was an eating experience we shall never forget. It started out normally
enough.. we went up to the counter and I ordered my food. I ordered a chicken
sandwich with cheese on it, just to fuck with the 12 year old guy there...
I love watching their eyes light up and the expression on their face when
they have no FUCKING clue how to send the order back to the kitchen. The
kitchen quickly put a chicken w/cheese in the bin. Both Wrath Master and I
(and everyone else that had ears) heard them call the sandwich out. But Johnny
Pudwhacker (the stupid fuck that took the order) apparently was deaf. After a
short interlude involving Johnny taking 5 or so orders, I pointed to the
sandwich in the bin and asked if I could please have my food. He replied that
he was waiting on a sandwich with cheese. Before I could explain to the
moron that it was indeed my sandwich in the bin, a McMeeting was called in the
kitchen to figure out what the fuck happened to my food. The cooks, who at
this point realized the low intelligence level of the customer relations
specialist that took my order, informed him (extremely slowly and gently so
not to frighten him) that he was fucking blind as well as deaf. And indeed,
it WAS my sandwich that now had a dark tan from sunbathing under the heat
lamps. It took a few minutes for the newly acquired information to register
in Johnny's brain, but he finally handed me my sandwich. At this point I
thought the escapade ended... I was wrong.
Wrath and I strolled over to the complimentary ketchup table. There we
were greeted by a small inner-city negro child. Using the vernacular that was
quite common among blacks in the area, the boy expressed that his lovely 300lb
yard ape of a sister wished to obtain my telephone number. The quote from the
large lipped boy was "Yo man, my sistah heah wants yo fone numbah, she say yo
fly." I explained to the confused child that gravity prevented me from flying
any long distances and that his sister was incorrect in her thesis. The boy
replied "What cho talkin about? (Willis)" Wrath and I strategically planned
our seating arrangements so as to be a good distance from the intellectual
giant that we had just spoken with. However, to our dismay, the boy was
trying to steal my wallet at the time. With his hand in my back pocket,
I pulled him along to the table. The boy's attention quickly shifted to two
sorrority sisters sitting nearby. The niglet quickly researched and
developed a high-tech weapon using a straw and bits of chewed up paper. He
then proceeded to bombard the women with a deluge of wet pulp. They became
enraged at the future defendant and one of the females gently informed him
to "Knock it the fuck off!" Being the strong-willed little negro he was, he
respectfully requested his cousin's assistance in "beating them [the girls]
up fo him." To his dismay, his large cousins declined his offer. Apparently
they were deaf also, as I have never seen an inner-city negro turn down an
opportunity to "Beat some ass." The sorrority sisters left the establishment
and the boy's attention once again focused on me. He proceeded to interrogate
(in the future something he will become quite accustomed to) me. His first
question was "Yo, you gots a girlfriend?" In order to get the monkey off my
back, I responded "I'm married." Being the observant little tar baby he be,
he inquired as to the whereabouts of my wedding ring. I responded "It's at the
cleaners." Being the overachiever and scholastically superior student that he
was, he replied "oh," and accepted my fictitious tale as fact. As the child
walked away, his 19 chromasome mother, sporting a delightful jerri-curl, swung
on over to our table and posed a question to us. "What did dat boah jus sayh
to yo?" I kindly replied to Aunt Jemimah, "He asked ifin I had a girlfriend."
Relieved, she wiped her hairy brow and responded, "Oh, I done thought dat he
said sumthin bad to ya." She and her negro stench then exited the area and
once again I was able to smell my food. By this time, Wrath, who had been
watching every action packed scenario unfold before his eyes, was laughing
till tears streamed down his face. Just then we both realized how close
Mcdonalds had come to being the site for an all out race-war.
So what have we learned from this experience? Don't talk to strangers?
Don't go to McDonalds? Never send your ring to be cleaned? Don't feed the
monkeys? Never ask for cheese on a sandwich unless it is mentioned in the
title? Always check the complimentary ketchup table for porch monkeys? I
think we can sum it all up in one statement: When it is darker inside
McDonalds than outside, don't even think of entering the building. You
never know whatchu gona' git. As Forest Duke would say, "My Moma always
told me McDonalds was like the Welfare office, it's always fulla niggas."
- Shockwave and Wrath Master
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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