Get out of my life, you worthless minx.

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.

Also, the impression of celery in this mixture is clever, but I’m sure, an illusion.

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.


2 thoughts on “Get out of my life, you worthless minx.

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