I was looking forward to simply spending the weekend alone, in the comfort of my room, playing or watching things with my online friends.
But noooooooo! My family wants to go outside not ONCE, but TWICE on both Saturday and Sunday. So I have to keep up my theatrics outside for two consecutive days. I didn't even get to write my posts that I had planned...
Regardless, while outside, we did various things—but I decided that I wanted fried chicken for dinner. So, along the way, my father simply pulled up at the nearest 'fried chicken store' and both me and my (real) little sister went outside the car to go order. But, when I tell you that this place looked ancient, I MEAN it looked ANTIQUE. They unironically still had those black and white billboard signs that fast food places used to use all the time—the ones with the little letters that you can move around to promote whatever deals the place had.
Not only that, but this place just looked immigrant-esque—as in, it looked like some shit-skinned, mud-hut dwelling refugee ran the place. The exit sign that pointed you out of the parking lot was literally entirely busted and has a massive hole in the middle of it, so it just said "IT."
I knew for a fact that when I entered, I'd either see the most crispy-looking black rog or Ranjeet Singh behind the counter.
I, of course, immediately started mouthing off to my parents and DEMANDED that I be taken elsewhere. The sheer gall of these two to be driving in the front, see that store, and think that it was acceptable for a Prince such as myself to be satiated with THAT? But, they basically told me to fuck off and order already, and I regretfully did not have my wallet with me, and therefore didn't have my license—so I couldn't drive myself anywhere else.
So, I resigned myself to this shithole and walked in expecting the worst. But, however, my predictions had been totally off. When I walked in, it was actually Muhammad Suleimani Hussein behind the counter. Although, honestly, that was probably worse. Still—in for a penny, in for a pound—I let my sister look at the menu and order whatever she wanted and then just copied her order. It was a three tender combo meal, and the negro told me that it'd be out in six minutes.
So, 20 minutes later, the cunt FINALLY comes back with my order and I grab the bags and immeditely leave. The rest of the day out was pretty alright, but I still would have prefered spending it in my room.
Finally, as the day comes to a close and we arrive home, I go downstairs to finally eat the slop I ordered because I may as well. It was, ironically, actually pretty decent. They gave you this cajun sauce which was actually fairly nice, and the fries were better than most immigrant-run places. I'd give it a 7/10. The thing that makes me rate it so high was that the Diet Pepsi that I got actually went along with it really well.
Then I looked down at my cup and realized I gulped down an entire 12 ounces of Diet Pepsi. At 7:00 PM. I was about to go to sleep in like thirty minutes.
So that was the moment I realized that I was screwed and just resigned myself to my fate. I TRIED to get some sleep regardless, but I woke in the middle of the night like 2 hours ago and I feel like absolute garbage. On top of that, my stomach is growling because I ate food from an immigrant and his khalal tenders were probably stored in camel bladder or something. Never again is NOW.
I just decided to come on here and postmaxx my sorrows away while I try to make something of my night.
But noooooooo! My family wants to go outside not ONCE, but TWICE on both Saturday and Sunday. So I have to keep up my theatrics outside for two consecutive days. I didn't even get to write my posts that I had planned...
Regardless, while outside, we did various things—but I decided that I wanted fried chicken for dinner. So, along the way, my father simply pulled up at the nearest 'fried chicken store' and both me and my (real) little sister went outside the car to go order. But, when I tell you that this place looked ancient, I MEAN it looked ANTIQUE. They unironically still had those black and white billboard signs that fast food places used to use all the time—the ones with the little letters that you can move around to promote whatever deals the place had.
Not only that, but this place just looked immigrant-esque—as in, it looked like some shit-skinned, mud-hut dwelling refugee ran the place. The exit sign that pointed you out of the parking lot was literally entirely busted and has a massive hole in the middle of it, so it just said "IT."
I knew for a fact that when I entered, I'd either see the most crispy-looking black rog or Ranjeet Singh behind the counter.
I, of course, immediately started mouthing off to my parents and DEMANDED that I be taken elsewhere. The sheer gall of these two to be driving in the front, see that store, and think that it was acceptable for a Prince such as myself to be satiated with THAT? But, they basically told me to fuck off and order already, and I regretfully did not have my wallet with me, and therefore didn't have my license—so I couldn't drive myself anywhere else.
So, I resigned myself to this shithole and walked in expecting the worst. But, however, my predictions had been totally off. When I walked in, it was actually Muhammad Suleimani Hussein behind the counter. Although, honestly, that was probably worse. Still—in for a penny, in for a pound—I let my sister look at the menu and order whatever she wanted and then just copied her order. It was a three tender combo meal, and the negro told me that it'd be out in six minutes.
So, 20 minutes later, the cunt FINALLY comes back with my order and I grab the bags and immeditely leave. The rest of the day out was pretty alright, but I still would have prefered spending it in my room.
Finally, as the day comes to a close and we arrive home, I go downstairs to finally eat the slop I ordered because I may as well. It was, ironically, actually pretty decent. They gave you this cajun sauce which was actually fairly nice, and the fries were better than most immigrant-run places. I'd give it a 7/10. The thing that makes me rate it so high was that the Diet Pepsi that I got actually went along with it really well.
Then I looked down at my cup and realized I gulped down an entire 12 ounces of Diet Pepsi. At 7:00 PM. I was about to go to sleep in like thirty minutes.
So that was the moment I realized that I was screwed and just resigned myself to my fate. I TRIED to get some sleep regardless, but I woke in the middle of the night like 2 hours ago and I feel like absolute garbage. On top of that, my stomach is growling because I ate food from an immigrant and his khalal tenders were probably stored in camel bladder or something. Never again is NOW.
I just decided to come on here and postmaxx my sorrows away while I try to make something of my night.
