Salsa and French Fries

There is something fascinating about fast food. I don't know if I say that because I was born to be a fat ass, or because of my former love affair with a fine lady named Mary Jane. Either way, there is something fascinating about fast food. You may hate it, you may love it, but either way you prefer it, you have to admit, it's fucking incredible. When you are hungry, and you've got some spare change, not to mention a car, going to a fast food restaurant is the ONLY solution. And for the time being, it always satisfies your undeniable craving... and then makes you feel sick afterward, but that is a different topic and a form of negativity I will not be expressing for such a luxurious industry.

But I am not really talking about fast food today. I am talking about the people who hand it out the window to you... I am talking particularly McDonald's, and a bit Taco Bell, but technically, I give these individuals a full pardon to serve gorditas and burritos. I am talking about the people I avoided conflicting with in my anti-Asian rice blog (I am giving you Asians the day off... You are welcome). These people can be seen mowing lawns, painting houses, or holding cardboard signs outside of the Seven Eleven... Okay, I am being stereotypical again... and I am not talking about crack heads... I am talking about Mexicans.

There are several types of Mexicans... Just as there are different types of white people. You've got the Mexican-Americans, who I am not addressing one bit, because they are a little more advanced in their humanity, and represent a hyphenated ethnicity, which derives from a successful job interview, or legal citizenship. I am also not referring to my good pals at Fiesta Mexicana, for if you are Mexican and serving Mexican food... thank you for keeping it natural. I am talking about the specific individuals who find salvation at classy fast food joints... Now, don't start giving me this shit about how they are working for their family and what not, because that is completely irrelevant to my point. If you want to make money for your family, go to Taco Bell or Del Taco or wherever the fuck your belonging makes sense, but leave my McDonald's alone.

It is extremely difficult when making an order, especially when the order is caused by a severe desire to eat, brought on only by special herbs. But, you know what I mean. You pull up to the little order window, which conveniently displays what you order for accuracy. Thank you, McDonald's... Corporate McDonald's... White people who work for corporate McDonald's. Even though the screen is there, they usually end up fucking up your order. It's so odd to me... You were able to get past our tough homeland security, but you are unable to make my snack wrap right? What the hell, Mexicans... Give me a reason to believe in you.

So I guess you could say my fear is focused on the future. For only in my deepest nightmares would I find myself at a drive-thru at McDiego's, ordering a chicken sandwich, which takes a few minutes since they've gotta cut the head off first... Then I proceed to the first window, pay with my collection of pesos that I stole from my mother's purse, which she stole from your mother's purse, and then I continue on to the second window, awaiting the arrival of my "fresh" food. They ask if I want salsa with my French fries... And then I wake up in a pool of sweat and a mind full of fear. That is some Freddy Kruger shit right there. So I guess if you're thinking about clicking the "offensive" button below, go ahead, just make sure you get my order right next time.