Shit that Pisses Me Off! Aka the Josh Rant (Volume One)
So I am taking a break from the therapy posts. I know that I still have stories that I want to tell but the stories that I NEED to tell or I will go insane have at least been touched upon. Last night I tried to write one and after a half dozen attempts I realized that I was trying to force one. I could have pumped one out and it may very well have been entertaining and informative but it would have been less than genuine. I am a firm believer that if you have to force yourself to create something then maybe you should walk away. It’s better to wait until the muse is whispering in my ear and the words flow from my fingers in that magical way that brings me to the edge of ecstasy. So I have decided to start doing a new segment on the old digital journal. It is a segment that most people will want to smack me across the back of the head for not doing sooner, a rant.
Since I have entered the world of better living through chemicals I have noticed that the number of little things that irritate the fuck out of me has decreased. Before the medication when my mind was maelstrom of chaos it seemed that there were a million little things that made me want to kick the elderly and hold puppies in captivity. Now there are many fewer things that get on the wrong side of my membrane but the few things that do get deep under my skin and inject me with poison really piss me off!
One thing that has angered me more and more in the last few years is the distinct lack of readily available ketchup at the fast food drive thru.
I worked for two years straight in the fast food industry when I was in high school. Back then it seemed that ketchup flowed like water and it was far from uncommon for the drive thru worker to stuff the customers back with enough ketchup to coat a hooker, a cute girl one not one of the manish ones with an Adam’s apple and a five o’clock shadow, in a nice red sheen … and not one made of blood. It was like cocaine in the 1970’s, everyone had a few lines (or packets) that they were more than happy to share with you.
Now fast forward to last week and the McDonalds two blocks from the secret and nebulous location of my day job (at night). I go through the drive thru there about once a week. Sometimes I am just getting a Coke before work, because fuck me there is nothing better than an ice cold fountain coca-cola, but usually I get a burger and fries. And no lectures about how bad for me that is because fuck you I work hard for my pennies and if I want to get a greasy salty orgasmic treat that’s my business.
Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I treat ketchup like Catholics treat communion wine. As far as I am concerned it IS the blood of my god the great LORD HEINZ he who was juiced for my sins and bottled for my enjoyment on potato products, meats, noodles, and pizza.
I love McDonalds French fries, I mean I fucking LOVE them I would smack a bitch up to get them into my gob. But I really only truly enjoy any fries with ketchup. Hot French fries with the right amount of salt on them dipped into preferably ice cold ketchup is like sex in the mouth.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I like ketchup and fries.
So this fucking McDonalds by my work seems to think that ketchup holds the cure for death or something because they horde it like one of those fucks on A&E. I go through there every time and I have to say “Can I have some ketchup please?” and every time I get this eye roll from whatever drugged out fucking teenager happens to be working the drive thru window. Then they huff and reach under the counter to retrieve a couple of packets of delicious god blood. They act like I am asking them to whip off their clothes and dance naked for my entertainment.
Trust me boils and ghouls I love nudity more than the next guy but I do not want to see any of those slack jawed, slope browed, carnie rejects naked.
I mean seriously they leave the stuff out in the dining room for customers to practically drink straight from the nozzle. But ask them at the drive thru window to give you something that at any other restaurant considers as necessary as water and you would think you were Hitler. An it’s not like that McDonalds is unique, every fucking McDonalds that I have been to seems to have the same policy towards condiments.
Fucking assholes … hope they get busted by the INS … seriously.
Since I have entered the world of better living through chemicals I have noticed that the number of little things that irritate the fuck out of me has decreased. Before the medication when my mind was maelstrom of chaos it seemed that there were a million little things that made me want to kick the elderly and hold puppies in captivity. Now there are many fewer things that get on the wrong side of my membrane but the few things that do get deep under my skin and inject me with poison really piss me off!
One thing that has angered me more and more in the last few years is the distinct lack of readily available ketchup at the fast food drive thru.
I worked for two years straight in the fast food industry when I was in high school. Back then it seemed that ketchup flowed like water and it was far from uncommon for the drive thru worker to stuff the customers back with enough ketchup to coat a hooker, a cute girl one not one of the manish ones with an Adam’s apple and a five o’clock shadow, in a nice red sheen … and not one made of blood. It was like cocaine in the 1970’s, everyone had a few lines (or packets) that they were more than happy to share with you.
Now fast forward to last week and the McDonalds two blocks from the secret and nebulous location of my day job (at night). I go through the drive thru there about once a week. Sometimes I am just getting a Coke before work, because fuck me there is nothing better than an ice cold fountain coca-cola, but usually I get a burger and fries. And no lectures about how bad for me that is because fuck you I work hard for my pennies and if I want to get a greasy salty orgasmic treat that’s my business.
Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I treat ketchup like Catholics treat communion wine. As far as I am concerned it IS the blood of my god the great LORD HEINZ he who was juiced for my sins and bottled for my enjoyment on potato products, meats, noodles, and pizza.
I love McDonalds French fries, I mean I fucking LOVE them I would smack a bitch up to get them into my gob. But I really only truly enjoy any fries with ketchup. Hot French fries with the right amount of salt on them dipped into preferably ice cold ketchup is like sex in the mouth.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I like ketchup and fries.
So this fucking McDonalds by my work seems to think that ketchup holds the cure for death or something because they horde it like one of those fucks on A&E. I go through there every time and I have to say “Can I have some ketchup please?” and every time I get this eye roll from whatever drugged out fucking teenager happens to be working the drive thru window. Then they huff and reach under the counter to retrieve a couple of packets of delicious god blood. They act like I am asking them to whip off their clothes and dance naked for my entertainment.
Trust me boils and ghouls I love nudity more than the next guy but I do not want to see any of those slack jawed, slope browed, carnie rejects naked.
I mean seriously they leave the stuff out in the dining room for customers to practically drink straight from the nozzle. But ask them at the drive thru window to give you something that at any other restaurant considers as necessary as water and you would think you were Hitler. An it’s not like that McDonalds is unique, every fucking McDonalds that I have been to seems to have the same policy towards condiments.
Fucking assholes … hope they get busted by the INS … seriously.
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