To Eat A Fry One Must Suppress Another Fry Entirely

mcdonalds-french-fries

He murdered his ankle and took a limp to proclaim his suffering, but the outcry, that is, what a victim proclaims in the moment of expiration, what ought to be a proud moment but always expires in excrement and pleas for continuation or acceptance of some benevolent force that couldn’t bother naming its children, typical father-
But it’s a murder none-the-less and his limp took him to that corner booth of Mc Donald’s where the old men sit and stare out the window remembering those murdered times when they could order their wives to fry up some fries before the great excrement of their expiration. He took that corner booth and stared, but not of the old times, because he wasn’t “that old” or old enough to remember the great times of misogynistic splendor. He poured his fries on the table still soaked with sanitizer from when the teenage wage earner with acne and mosquito bites wiped the table with a rag that he used on every other table ensuring that whatever bacteria fostered on the rag was a dense combination of passing strangers. He poured the fries and divided them into casual categories:
1. Long ones
2. Short ones
3. Fat ones
4. Burnt ones
And through this division he surmised that even if they were divided the essence of the fry remained intact, he would consume each fry, but the order of consumption was where his dilemma prompted insight. To eat the long ones first seemed logical, fill up on length and the fat fries will fill the holes the long ones couldn’t. Hunger is an anecdotal love fest and what he fucked first wasn’t necessarily a proclamation of love but rather lust. Thus which casual category did he lust after the most? He pondered. He draped one leg over the other and pondered. He tapped his index on a dimple located on the apex of his cheek-bone and pondered. The teenage acne ridden mosquito bite carrying wage earner approached him and clearing his throat of any teenage snot inquired,
“Sir, is there a problem with your meal?”
And his concentration was destroyed. The frustration of this slaughter enraged his psyche.
“My lad. You’ve completely ruined the order of consumption.”
The teenage acne ridden mosquito bite carrying wage earner winced at the exchange.
“Eat them all, man. It’s a time for equality! Screw your order!”
He was stunned and a bit embarrassed. He swept his arm across the table and toppled the fries to the floor. He sighed a lingering sigh that hung around the lobby like a cloud. He then went outside and drove to the nearest gas station where he purchased a caste of mozzarella sticks. He spent the rest of the afternoon deciding which one he’d eat first.

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