Whopper lust, part 3: Sated

I finally had that Whopper. Long week, I deserve it.

It was delicious.

I feel like llama shit now. Nothing but wheatgrass for me till 2011.

But let me say that I was pleasantly surprised by my first visit to a Burger King in many years. The store was clean, bright, well-designed. The people behind the counter were courteous and competent. My sandwich was served quickly and looked reasonably appetizing.

This is somewhat surprising. I rarely visit fast-food places (not counting Subway and Dunkin' Donuts, both of which I should keep a cot in), but usually when I do, the stench of depression fills my nostrils with acrid viciousness. Some time ago, I patronized a Wendy's, and it felt like a peacekeeping mission to Kosovo. And please, don't get me started about my annual trip to White Castle; PTSD is real, you know.

So big ups to the BK, despite my llama-shit-ness at the moment. Here's another ad, a classic. My stomach might be wobbly, but my heart is warmed: