We celebrated birthdays today by going to the local greasy spoon restaurant. Building office morale must necessarily involve some sort of physical pain, that’s how you bond with co-workers. Kind of like a miniature internment camp, complete with (gastronomic) beatings and intimidation.

Not that I wouldn’t normally go to a place that cooks chicken gizzards on the same grill that they cooked my burger on, that has a sign out front inviting you to ‘come in and sit with the flies.’ Clearly, such places are not beneath me. And, tis true, the only other restaurant in town gave me food poisoning… twice… and the only other OTHER place in town is a Wendy’s. I just have one question about the birthday lunch ritual. What the hell is wrong with Wendy’s?

A Frosty never tormented me like this!