=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= - Chocolate Lovin at McDonalds - Well, Wrath Master and I just returned from a trip to the local McDonalds. It was an eating experience we shall never forget. It started out normally enough.. we went up to the counter and I ordered my food. I ordered a chicken sandwich with cheese on it, just to fuck with the 12 year old guy there... I love watching their eyes light up and the expression on their face when they have no FUCKING clue how to send the order back to the kitchen. The kitchen quickly put a chicken w/cheese in the bin. Both Wrath Master and I (and everyone else that had ears) heard them call the sandwich out. But Johnny Pudwhacker (the stupid fuck that took the order) apparently was deaf. After a short interlude involving Johnny taking 5 or so orders, I pointed to the sandwich in the bin and asked if I could please have my food. He replied that he was waiting on a sandwich with cheese. Before I could explain to the moron that it was indeed my sandwich in the bin, a McMeeting was called in the kitchen to figure out what the fuck happened to my food. The cooks, who at this point realized the low intelligence level of the customer relations specialist that took my order, informed him (extremely slowly and gently so not to frighten him) that he was fucking blind as well as deaf. And indeed, it WAS my sandwich that now had a dark tan from sunbathing under the heat lamps. It took a few minutes for the newly acquired information to register in Johnny's brain, but he finally handed me my sandwich. At this point I thought the escapade ended... I was wrong. Wrath and I strolled over to the complimentary ketchup table. There we were greeted by a small inner-city negro child. Using the vernacular that was quite common among blacks in the area, the boy expressed that his lovely 300lb yard ape of a sister wished to obtain my telephone number. The quote from the large lipped boy was "Yo man, my sistah heah wants yo fone numbah, she say yo fly." I explained to the confused child that gravity prevented me from flying any long distances and that his sister was incorrect in her thesis. The boy replied "What cho talkin about? (Willis)" Wrath and I strategically planned our seating arrangements so as to be a good distance from the intellectual giant that we had just spoken with. However, to our dismay, the boy was trying to steal my wallet at the time. With his hand in my back pocket, I pulled him along to the table. The boy's attention quickly shifted to two sorrority sisters sitting nearby. The niglet quickly researched and developed a high-tech weapon using a straw and bits of chewed up paper. He then proceeded to bombard the women with a deluge of wet pulp. They became enraged at the future defendant and one of the females gently informed him to "Knock it the fuck off!" Being the strong-willed little negro he was, he respectfully requested his cousin's assistance in "beating them [the girls] up fo him." To his dismay, his large cousins declined his offer. Apparently they were deaf also, as I have never seen an inner-city negro turn down an opportunity to "Beat some ass." The sorrority sisters left the establishment and the boy's attention once again focused on me. He proceeded to interrogate (in the future something he will become quite accustomed to) me. His first question was "Yo, you gots a girlfriend?" In order to get the monkey off my back, I responded "I'm married." Being the observant little tar baby he be, he inquired as to the whereabouts of my wedding ring. I responded "It's at the cleaners." Being the overachiever and scholastically superior student that he was, he replied "oh," and accepted my fictitious tale as fact. As the child walked away, his 19 chromasome mother, sporting a delightful jerri-curl, swung on over to our table and posed a question to us. "What did dat boah jus sayh to yo?" I kindly replied to Aunt Jemimah, "He asked ifin I had a girlfriend." Relieved, she wiped her hairy brow and responded, "Oh, I done thought dat he said sumthin bad to ya." She and her negro stench then exited the area and once again I was able to smell my food. By this time, Wrath, who had been watching every action packed scenario unfold before his eyes, was laughing till tears streamed down his face. Just then we both realized how close Mcdonalds had come to being the site for an all out race-war. So what have we learned from this experience? Don't talk to strangers? Don't go to McDonalds? Never send your ring to be cleaned? Don't feed the monkeys? Never ask for cheese on a sandwich unless it is mentioned in the title? Always check the complimentary ketchup table for porch monkeys? I think we can sum it all up in one statement: When it is darker inside McDonalds than outside, don't even think of entering the building. You never know whatchu gona' git. As Forest Duke would say, "My Moma always told me McDonalds was like the Welfare office, it's always fulla niggas." - Shockwave and Wrath Master ************************************************************************ * DISCLAIMER * ************************************************************************ * - Our opinions are our own and don't reflect those of any of our * * associates or members of FUCK. * * - You are free to misinterpret my words however you please. * * - You are NOT free to diagnose my intent. * * - If you don't like my text, fuck off. Who asked you? * ************************************************************************ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... = = Internet : disorder@corrupt.sekurity.com -or- jericho@netcom.com = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Chemical Persuasion 203.324.0894 Ionic Destruction 215.722.0570 = = Wulf's Den 303.699.WULF E.L.F. (NUP) 314.272.3426 = = Dungeon Sys. Inc. 410.263.2258 Celestial Woodlands 409.764.2843 = = Plan 9 716.881.3663 Logikal Nonsense 717.XXX.XXXX = = Purple Hell 806.791.0747 Deadly Intoxication 801.553.8644 = = PuRe EViL (NUP) 905.XXX.XXXX The Keg 914.234.9674 = = Misery 318.625.4532 = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Files through Anonymous FTP: FTP.NETCOM.COM - cd /pub/illusion/fuck = = CORRUPT.SEKURITY.COM - cd /pub/zine/fuck = = ADS112.RH.PSU.EDU - cd /pub/magazines/fuck = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... = = Internet : disorder@corrupt.sekurity.com -or- jericho@netcom.com = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Chemical Persuasion 203.324.0894 Ionic Destruction 215.722.0570 = = Wulf's Den 303.699.WULF E.L.F. (NUP) 314.272.3426 = = Dungeon Sys. Inc. 410.263.2258 Celestial Woodlands 409.764.2843 = = Plan 9 716.881.3663 Logikal Nonsense 717.XXX.XXXX = = Purple Hell 806.791.0747 Deadly Intoxication 801.553.8644 = = PuRe EViL (NUP) 905.XXX.XXXX The Keg 914.234.9674 = = Misery 318.625.4532 = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Files through Anonymous FTP: FTP.NETCOM.COM - cd /pub/illusion/fuck = = CORRUPT.SEKURITY.COM - cd /pub/zine/fuck = = ADS112.RH.PSU.EDU - cd /pub/magazines/fuck = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=