You’ve Got to be Off Your Fucking Tits to Eat Food from the Rotisserie Racks at 7-Eleven

I am not tangling with any person that eats food from 7-Eleven warming and/or rotisserie racks, because clearly they don’t give a fuck. I’d as soon approach the rotting carcass of a week-old wildebeest in the Serengeti that was beset by jackals as I would a “hot dog” spinning menacingly in the cooking rack at 7-Eleven. I have read declassified Pentagon papers which explained that the pilots of the Enola Gay were not given cyanide tablets in the event they were captured, as previously thought. They were given hot dogs and an order of mozzarella sticks from 7-Eleven.

Not even in my drunkest, darkest, most stoned hour in college did I ever consider consuming that toxic manna from hell. The children seen scavenging food from Mumbai gutters are ingesting better calories than the American fatties crushing chili dogs from 7-Eleven. The usual consumer of this fetid filth are people in the 75+ pounds overweight demographic with acne and sweat pants, trying to score a quick hot dog, pizza slice and beef burrito snack before their all-night chat room marathon. As their “Who Farted” t-shirts would indicate, these are typically harmless individuals no more to be feared than the common 3-toed sloth. This past Friday afternoon I encountered something completely different and I fear altogether sinister. There was a man near the age of 30, dressed well according to modern fashion tastes, clean-cut, of Arab or possibly Persian descent. He strode confidently into 7-Eleven and straight up to the group of Indian proprietors who were at that time arguing in Hindi over which products in the store they were going to incorrectly label with high prices until a customer noticed and complained and they pretended it was a simple mistake. He interrupted them and without hesitation ordered two slices of peperoni pizza which were warming in squalor inside a most foul transparent oven of some sort. This individual is capable of anything. Murder, rape, sodomy, theft, assault, buggery, the sky is the limit. A person such as this has nothing to lose and is not concerned with their own welfare. Tread cautiously.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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