Dunkin Donuts, I don’t want to know the nutritional or chemical breakdown of your chicken salad. It’s lousy with mayonnaise and may not contain any chicken.
I imagine the chicken product it does contain was taken from the worst kind of chicken slave farm. The kind where under-nourished chickens have to turn giant cog wheels in a chain gang to generate the power to run a water-wheel which creates enough electricity for evil dictators to blow dry their dictator jeans after the tears of human suffering get them all damp.
I want this. I want to eat this white paste spread over a croissant. I want it all the time. With an iced coffee. With a diet coke. I want to want to go jogging or eat an apple instead of putting my face near this purgatorial fat burger. I hate that this is a part of my life.
My dear friends, this blog post contains no revelation, and no happy ending.
Dunkin Donuts, you are bad. You’re a bad guy.