That indecisive fast food guy

Ah yes, another guy who I'm sure all of us are familiar with. I'm sure in our moments of weakness, hunger, self loathing, boredom or other motivation to dine at one of the many wonderful fast food restaurants. They're not hard to find, they dot our landscape like monoliths of diabetes and obesity, promising supreme value over caloric intake. In these troubling times of economic instability, it is nice to know that we can all retreat into our fast food hovel of choice and satiate that masochistic desire to swallow a deep fried something, covered in other greasy somethings all topped off with a sauce biologically designed to clog our arteries. But we all have our favorite sandwiches be it the triple bypass burger, the McFried special or a Jr. Lardo soft serve shake. Either way, we all know what we want. Even further still, we know what all of the items are on that colorful, greasy menu. They're all variations on the same basic thing, simple yes? That is why that guy's existence boggles my mind.

That guy is the one who stands in line in front of you. He does not let us experienced artery cloggers walk past him, he holds his position firmly, staring up at the vertical menu, studying it with all the intricacies of a lost and priceless manuscript. He stands there, unmoving, mesmerized by the combos, enticed by the wonderful looking cyclopean mounds of meat and rendered animal fats, immobile. No one shall pass him, no one must receive their ambrosia before he sups on the delicious flavors served on his wax paper in its magnificent paper bag presentation.

Listen that guy, you have clearly been in this place before. You and your several chins look like a row of giant slugs hanging upside down from a big sack of fat. And judging by his slight gravitational pull, that guy is most certainly familiar if not eerily intimate with the foods at this wonderful establishment. Yet despite his corpulence and being the embodiment of every single "Yo mamma so fat..." joke, he still can't make up his mind.

The time it should take one to decide as to what unhealthy dessicated disgusting dirty delicacies should be half a second. By the time you walk in those doors and that horrid scent of fried souls hits you, you should already know what you want (and already salivating in line). You don't saunter in to a fast food place and read the menu like A Tale of Two Cities. There are no best or worst of times. There is a fucking burger and fries. Pick one and let the rest of us get on with our descent into diabetic obesity. This is not a fancy restaurant, there is no maitre'd, no table cloths, hell there isn't a bathroom half the time. The menu is not hard illegible and you don't even have to be literate. Just point to your mountain of calories and get on with it.

That guy slows me down and should die a horrible painful death involving the deep fat fryer and his genitals. Every second he takes to choose between the ultra mega deluxe combo platter or the chicken mcdiahrrea is another second that makes me reconsider my actions. He is the person who wants to skydive but is too scared to jump himself. Perhaps next time he should bring with him a starving Ethiopian child so they can order in tandem. Make up your mind that guy, before I supersize the foot that I am going to plant in the fold on your backside that I think is your ass.