2 For $7

Dear, Fast-Food... (Except Chipotle)

From the depths of velvety smooth chocolate milkshake oceans to the mountains of sodium-laden deep-fried goodies, I commend you for the variety of fare you offer. However, I condemn you for the magnetized clutch you've induced.

I, like many others find myself entranced in a daydream of choosing who will gain my undivided attention when indecisiveness is commanding. The process of elimination becomes exceedingly difficult when your variety sets the stage for an internal argument between my gut and my sense of reasoning.

I shan't fear you no more...

I chose to sever this harrowing relationship filled with rectangular condiment packets, plastic forks, straws, paper packaging, waxy cylinder-shaped drink containers and crumbs upon crumbs of delicious crunchiness that crunched away during a savory bite. All of it litters my vehicle faster than lightning striking the earth.

You don't care about me and the clusters of lard coursing through my veins. All you care about is attracting me with your booby trap deals and your colorful neon signs at night which entice and lure the unsuspecting. I shall wear blinders in order to blot you out my peripheral, since I should be focusing on the planned destination anyway. No pit stops for sublime Oreo blizzards, no spicy tongue from Cajun fries with ketchup, no gorditas that barely contain any wholesome authentic flavors, no footlong subs with endless piles of meat and cheese, no sugary, cavity causing Frappuccinos and especially none of those “two all-beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame bun.” They temporarily satisfy, yet irritate me with a passion...

I feel disgusted, cheated and filled with grief over your contemplative existence... but not enough to quit you yet... Damn it all to Hell and back!... See you tomorrow at noon.

Sincerely,

Your favorite customer, Weakness.

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