The other day, I went to grab a burger for lunch. A simple task for me, a simple man, right? Not quite.
I placed my order, probably the most generic and common order ever, and then was floored.
“We’re sorry, sir. We no longer serve the Whopper.”
The words turned my blood to ice. It’s like I was being told my kids were dead, my car had been stolen or that porn was no longer allowed on the internet.
“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Burger King no longer carries the Whopper.”
The sounds of the world were buried under the dull roar filling my ears. A red film settled over my vision and when it cleared, I was alone in parking lot, covered in blood, fry sauce and brain—human brain, not the cow brain found in delicious fry sauce.
The cops understood, though. It happens quite often, apparently. They hosed me off and sent me on home wrapped up in one of those fuzzy grey blankets you normally have to survive a fire or a car crash to get.
Nothing makes me miss the days of not having cable hooked up to the T.V. more than commercials. As advertising slowly absorbs popular culture, commercials start to look like movies from the past.
Enter the Jackass style Burger King Commercials. What? You want a Whopper? Oh snap! You just got punk’d with a Big Mac, bitch! How entertaining! What effective advertising. I’m definitely going to willingly go to the website to see more commercials.
After I go buy a Triple Whopper, I mean.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m all for filming unaware people freaking out, especially if there’s profit to be made on top of my amusement (or they’re having sex). But watching people come unhinged and barely restraining themselves from starting a fist fight because they don’t get what they want for lunch isn’t as entertaining for me as it is disturbing.
Maybe it’s a little funny, but now remember one little fact: these people are roaming around, free to travel, loose in society. Maybe they’re in front of you in line at the gas station and about to find out their brand of smokes aren’t available. Maybe they’re behind you at the movies and you’re talking too loud. Maybe you just cut them off in traffic.
Me, I live in fear. I always have a Whopper in my pocket, you know, just in case someone I encounter by chance is out of their meds.
I placed my order, probably the most generic and common order ever, and then was floored.
“We’re sorry, sir. We no longer serve the Whopper.”
The words turned my blood to ice. It’s like I was being told my kids were dead, my car had been stolen or that porn was no longer allowed on the internet.
“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Burger King no longer carries the Whopper.”
The sounds of the world were buried under the dull roar filling my ears. A red film settled over my vision and when it cleared, I was alone in parking lot, covered in blood, fry sauce and brain—human brain, not the cow brain found in delicious fry sauce.
The cops understood, though. It happens quite often, apparently. They hosed me off and sent me on home wrapped up in one of those fuzzy grey blankets you normally have to survive a fire or a car crash to get.
Nothing makes me miss the days of not having cable hooked up to the T.V. more than commercials. As advertising slowly absorbs popular culture, commercials start to look like movies from the past.
Enter the Jackass style Burger King Commercials. What? You want a Whopper? Oh snap! You just got punk’d with a Big Mac, bitch! How entertaining! What effective advertising. I’m definitely going to willingly go to the website to see more commercials.
After I go buy a Triple Whopper, I mean.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m all for filming unaware people freaking out, especially if there’s profit to be made on top of my amusement (or they’re having sex). But watching people come unhinged and barely restraining themselves from starting a fist fight because they don’t get what they want for lunch isn’t as entertaining for me as it is disturbing.
Maybe it’s a little funny, but now remember one little fact: these people are roaming around, free to travel, loose in society. Maybe they’re in front of you in line at the gas station and about to find out their brand of smokes aren’t available. Maybe they’re behind you at the movies and you’re talking too loud. Maybe you just cut them off in traffic.
Me, I live in fear. I always have a Whopper in my pocket, you know, just in case someone I encounter by chance is out of their meds.
No comments:
Post a Comment