In a few short days, life as we know it in 2010 will be over. And I think I can speak for everyone when I say, OKAY. Moving on to 2011.
2010 was a fantastic year, let's not kid one another. So much transpired. We all became older. Wiser. We all learned new and surprising things. I can't for the life of me think of one such thing, but I'm sure I will sometime. Some other, later, time.
And now, 2011 dangles it's awkward dub digits in our faces. What will the next 10 years look like in your life? What will you do? How big will your kids get? Who will you reach? Where will you be? Well, I don't know where I'll be, but I'll tell you where I won't be: Sonic Fast Food Drive-In. Ever again.
Had a number one meal on the way back to Dallas today. I've never had a problem with their food in the past. Usually a pleasant meal. Decent tots. Jovial wait staff on roller skates. But not this time. My cheeseburger was a joke. They were mocking me. Flattened, soggy-bun joke. Thinner than the sole of a converse. Raw tomato folded in half. Three shreds of lettuce. The hamburger pattie was pieced together. Cheese caked around the sides, none on the pattie.
I felt sorry for it. I don't know why I ate the damned thing. Probably cause I felt sorry for it. Put it out of its misery. Oh, and I was starving.
I learned my lesson though, boy howdy. I was poisoned. It gave me food-poisoning.
Bah, I soulda returned it as soon as poor-man's roller-girl gave it to me, damn food poisoned, pathetic pattie. Problem is, I'm not a return-guy, never liked that confrontation. Feel like such a sniveling baby when ya return something.
'Umm, yea, me again. This burger is too...eh, it doesn't look right (wahhh).'
'Well, it's all there, you big dumb baby. Poisoned tomato, broken pattie, 3 shreds of lettuce, squirts of expired mustard and mayo clumped in the corner. It's right, just like the picture.'
'Okay, sorry, you're right, I'm a baby. Thank you. (shake the rattle)'
I don't ever want that exchange to occur.
Please don't goto Sonic. For me. If you do go there, you'll get poisoned, listen to what I'm telling you. I'll actually make sure of it. I'll call Sonic and tell them you're headed over and then they can give you a flattened, food-poisoned #1 meal, too. Open your ears, it's the truth, I'd never lie to you, never ever, I love you.
But if you disobey my commands, I will crush you. Don't goto Sonic.
In summary: Don't trust a fast food establishment that doesn't have a mascot.
All the other big ones have a mascot. Not Sonic. Just a bunch of pimply-faced hornball teenagers gliding around on roller skates begging for tips so they can afford diapers for their 3 year old girl named Daryl Lee.
Is that their mascot? A greedy, pimply-faced pre-teen? That's not a mascot.
Mascots have elaborate costumes, big heads, silly gestures. They put their hands up to their eyes a lot and shake their bulbous noggins back and forth. Jack in the Box. Burger King. Hamburglar. Taco Bell Chihuahua.
What's gotten into me? I don't know why I'm bad-mouthing Sonic. I love those damn Cherry Limeades.