Early last week, the FBI wanted to stage a practice raid on an old abandoned house that belongs to the company that I work for. Naturally, I wanted to see our nation’s elite crime fighting unit in action, so my buddy at work and I made the property management team ask the FBI if they would let us watch them stage their raid. They had to do background checks on the both of us before they allowed viewing permission, which came back negative for the both of us. Or is clean the word I am looking for here?
In any case, you can bet I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief that they didn’t have any evidence of that time I accidentally caught a whiff of smoke from a marijuana cigarette that was passed to me my freshmen year in college. Whew.
The practice raid was set for dawn so I figured since I’d be on a stakeout so early in the morning, I was probably going to need some BK. And BK has that new dollar breakfast menu so the day was off to a good start, right? Wrong.
I was hoping the croissan’wich was going to make the dollar breakfast roster, but unfortunately, it did not make the cut. But they did have something called a Hamlette, and being the adventurous soul that I am, I got two of those and a large coffee, the perfect combination of saturated fat and caffeine to help me fight the imaginary criminal element in the town of Middleton, Wisconsin.
Little did I know that when I arrived at my destination, waiting for the G-Men to come and save the day, I would be un-wrapping what can only be called the sorriest excuse for a McGriddle that I have ever seen.
If you think it’s impossible to screw up ham, eggs, and cheese, well, my friend, you would be wrong. First of all, the thing is served on a Whopper Jr. bun. Like they are really saving a bunch of dough by not using biscuit batter, pun intended. Second, and I am not making this up, the goddamn thing is drenched in syrup. Gross. I can only imagine the BK executive decision to green light this monstrosity.
I imagine a bunch of nerdy guys in white lab coats, squeamishly trying to explain their dilemma to a boardroom full of suits.
“Sir, we’ve tried EVERYTHING, but we just CAN’T figure out they got those little pockets of syrup into the pancake bun. It can’t be replicated, it just can’t be done.”
The CEO then throws a bunch of pens in the air and buries his head in his arms in sheer frustration, emerging a few moments later in a clear state of resignation.
“Fine. Let’s just throw the shit in between a whopper Jr. bun, pour some fuckin’ syrup on the cocksucker, and call it a day. Gentlemen, I’ll be on the golf course for the rest of the afternoon if you need me. Good riddance.”
Heads are going to roll for this debacle. I could barely finish the second one, that’s how bad they are. For now on, I ONLY eat McGriddles. Even though they cost twice as much, you just can’t put a price on quality.
To finish up, the training mission was a success, despite the disastrous breakfast affair. Oh, and the special agent in charge let me hold his sniper rifle. It was awesome.
Nothing says wholesome like a pancake pun with pockets of syrup and a big arch stamped on it. It's what mother nature always intended when She gave us grains.
9 comments:
And I thought I was crazy when I ate one of those and tasted syrup. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why it tasted that way, because it didn't have the pockets like the McGriddle, and it wasn't drenched in it, so I couldn't see it.
"I could barely finish the second one, that’s how bad they are."
Yet you ate the first one, realized how terrible they were, then proceeded to eat the second one in its entirety? There is a word to describe people like you - fat.
Was that the first time you held another man's sniper rifle, Ben???
Is it at all possible for us to go one post without making a dick joke or a Ben-is-gay remark? Is that really too much to ask?
Oh, and Ben has been handling other men's rifles for years...
I read you loud and clear.
We're talking about weiners, right?
What was the agent holding while you held his "gun?"
Monarch
A world without dick jokes, T J, is one in which I refuse to live.
hahaha, I get it. You guys were inferring that I was holding a dong instead of an actual sniper rifle. That is rich.
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