I had heard that the McRib was back, so naturally, like any red blooded American, I rushed down to my local Golden Arches! I got five sandwiches to go, I try to keep two in the freezer for those dark days when there is nary a Rollo McFlurry on the menu, but really, who am I kidding, I'll have eaten these suckers by the end of the night before falling into a sodium induced coma. I was about to leave, when I spied a birthday party over at the PlayPlace. So of course I saunter on over. Bitch could go for a free piece of cake to go with her McRib!
"Madge," I say, trying to mask my contempt.
"Good Day, Gov-nah!" Madonna replied.
"Oh," I pause, slightly shocked, "so we're still doing that then?"
"Chip chip, cheerio!" she said, her accent worse than Dick Van Dyke's in Mary Poppins.
"Indeed. So uhm, Happy Birthday!" I manage to say, handing her a bag of extra BBQ Sauce, lord knows I wasn't gonna part with a sandwich. "So how old are you today?"
"Thir'y Five." She answers, dead serious. Not even the affected Gwyneth Paltrow sitting in the corner could hold back a smirk.
"Thirty five!" I laugh. "Those fake ass cheekbones in your face are older than thirty five!
"Lorrie lift torch spanner!"
"Huh?" I ask, totally lost by the turn in conversation, and thus completely uninterested. "So, yeah, happy thirty-fifth. How's about a piece of that cake?"
"Good'ay mate!" she said with a scowl as she looked at me, then to the door.
"Oh my god. You are an Idiot." I said turning to walk out, but before leaving I turned and pushed her stupid cake to the floor and spit on it.
As I was driving home in a McRib high, I was feeling pretty good about myself, but then had the realization that it's not like damned Skeletor was going eat that cake anyway. So I started to feel bad for wasting a perfectly delicious cake, but then realized that at least Paltrow wasn't going to get any of it... and I started to laugh uncontrollably... I swear, those McRibs always give me the giggles!
