When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve their fast-food bonds which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Eating and of Value Meals entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.We’ve all seen him, creepily leering at us while we sleep, or just outside our window waiting for us open the shade. I am talking, of course, about The Burger King. I would say it’s because he’s gotten a big head, but he’s always had one—a big plastic head of never-changing emotion—and that emotion is... pure evil.
It began innocently enough, with a children’s birthday party here and there, and perhaps a cardboard crown or two. It was accepted that he would never beat McDonald's and that was alright. They’d do they’re own thing. Sure, the fries weren’t as good. But the pseudo–char-broiling process was enough to keep people coming back, and that was fine. It was normal. But something happened in the early 2000s that changed everything: home invasions. While it’s understood that The King wants to get the word out about his new breakfast sandwiches, breaking into people’s houses and sitting in their beds is not the way to do it. Because of The King’s Burgerarchy, one cannot challenge him without fear of execution. Knowing this, even more heinous creations are coming from him by the day.
Take the Burger King "Quadstacker," for instance. Four burgers stacked on top of one another. FOUR. It is this extreme example of overindulgence and sheer hubris that proves The King MUST be relieved of power. I implore you good people of the world—a revolution is needed. Join me, brothers and sisters, for the first meeting next Wednesday in McDonaldland. Mayor McCheese will be M.C.
(Photo copyright Burger King/Blarg.com.)
4 comments:
He obviously conducts his reign according to the archaic Divine Right of Burger Kings, under which belief fast-food mascots are ordained by God to be His representative behind the counter.
What we need is some sort of Magna Carta that divests the Burger King's power, prohibiting him from sinisterly trespassing on our private property and slipping into our beds during the night or interfering in professional football games merely for the sake of selling Whoppers.
Now, Runnymede, England -- where Magna Carta was signed in 1215 - is impractical because of its distance; however, there's a Runnemede, New Jersey. And there's a Burger King on the Black Horse Pike, only a mile and a half from the Runnemede borough line. We could force the Burger King to sign a new Magna Carta there, freeing ourselves from his flame-broiled tyranny, and then grab lunch at the Wendy's just down the road.
Anything with a head that large and menacing looking belongs above the fireplace in a ski lodge. I say we form militias and then hunt and destroy. We will probably get thanked by kindly town folk.
I still have the anonymous inter-office mail Randy once sent me. It was The King's face cut out of newspaper and glued on to a piece of company stationary. I recoiled in horror as the plastic grin emerged from the envelope.
I love sending inter-office mail. The thrill I get from mailing an item free of charge is one of the few, fleeting joys amid a bleak and godless postal system.
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