This one time at Writer's Camp…
The Asiago Tis a Lie
Behold, said the purveyor of the House of Dave, which is named Wendy’s and where speed is of the essence. I harken unto thee a new, sparkling sandwich of a plucked chicken cooked with the rich, tasty Asiago cheese styled in the Italian cuisine secrets. Topped with the crispest of letti, the devil’s apple and smothered in a rich vinaigrette sauce which is creamy upon thy tongue, it is certain to satisfy even the strictest of food critiques.
Come, they harkened unto mine as I propelled my horseless carriage through their quick service window. Awaiting my arrival in a gallant manner was the dullest of men, who took it upon himself to struggle to find joy in his very existence as the weight of humanity crushed his soul. He fought against the demons of hell itself, fighting that soul destroying realization of humanity is an abstract art form but in the end, counted out mine change in a proper manner. I was pleased and told him so, though I doubt this assuaged his feelings in any proper manner. His tears of shame notwithstanding.
Moving thy horseless carriage of mine forward some feet, I was greeted by a second individual who handed me a sack filled with the promise of tongue tasting, orgiastic fabulousness from the House of Dave. I art pleased and I turn my horseless carriage towards my castle, eager to taste the finer points of Italian cuisine wrapped in the masque of a food service house where speed is of the utmost importance.
Upon arriving in my castle, I descended the dark and dank steps, past the Rowland of Scott who was working on another of his infernal contraptions, and locked myself in the dungeon beneath the kitchen. Unwrapping the masque which held the goodness of Italy and not the bitter shame of what it would become, I savored the smell of the product of Dave for a moment longer. Slowly, I took my first satiating bite of the Italiano sandwich.
Upon the cooked chicken and finer Italian cheese touching the tip of my tongue I recoiled in horror as a new, unsuspecting taste struck the very core of my being. I sniffed yon delicacy in a decidedly improper manner and realized that the Asiago was but a lie. Instead of a tasty, well prepared vinaigrette I was expecting, some heartless, soulless abyssal creature spawned in the depths of Hell and foisted upon the service industry which prides itself on speed had taken over the very bastions of the House of Dave and coated the plucked chicken which was cooked had replaced the promised vinaigrette with an unappealing sauce of buttermilk our colonial brethren called “Ranch”.
I set down yon sandwich and inspected it further, believing that my tongue must surely be lying to me. Hark, it was not, I saw to my utter disdain as more of the buttermilk infested ooze dripped onto the masque which protected my sandwich of chicken which was plucked and cooked upon the heated elements. I stared in utter disbelief. This, I asked myself, was the promise from the House of Dave for quality in a service which prides itself in speed? I wept bitter, confused tears of shame as I set the sandwich of chicken aside, mock Asiago cheese rotting on the tasteless bread momentarily forgotten.
The House of Dave that is named for his daughter Wendy shall pay for their crimes against humanity. This buttermilk sauce dripping upon my Italian crusted mold called cheese, the Asiago cheese. A crime worse than the time when the Irish House of Donald’s fed me a tainted product they called beef. I shall rise up and revolt, taking back mine honor and mine pride from the thieving, cowardly bastards from the House of Dave.
The House of Dave must fall. Are you with me, men?
I said, ARE YOU WITH ME?!?!