McChubbin's Mystic McDonalds Wonderland Oddity

McChubbin · 04-08-2010 10:15am #1

Stop the presses!
I have stumbled upon the Twilight Zone and I'm not talking about a tween mecca of sparkly planks of wood with plastic fangs!
As I write, I have two cups of low grade, eye-opening watery lattes flowing through me and just enough sugar to function from the breakfast of champions that I simply must Boardsie Blog about for it was so mind-blowingly mystical that it's sent me all cuddly Hunter S Thompson-y lyrical waxer.

Can you tell yet that I'm still recovering from the now surely infamous roofie incident that occured on International Zombie Drag Queen Appreciation Day?

Things are decidingly weird in my cluster-f'ucked head these days and so, eager to offload the 200+ page notebook I filled with pages of drugged out comedy gold, I feel I must regale you all about a Dagon of Fast Food that I literally discovered not five minutes before I sat down to type like a start-struck Twilighter catching a glimpse of Sparklewood as he took a s'hit in a public toilet of some description.

It all started innocently enough.

After falling off my chair in Vicar Street and gaining minute props on Twitter after the fact as Mexican Wave Girl at a Dara O' Briaen gig in Febuary, I was itching to once more worship the Tayto-shaped god of random observational humour once more and so, owing to the fact that a nasty touch of dental pain has left me feeling like Jabba The Hutt's taken a gigantic humdinger of a Cleaveland Steamer right into my mouth last night as I struggled to get 5 minutes of sleep, I was up bright and early to strut down to Ticketmaster, grooving to my morning wake-up playlist of Beegees classics.

Alas, I am sorry to say that I had to forgo the gig as thanks to an army of likeminded psychic comedy nerds, most of the gigs were sold out save for the notoriously neck-breaking nose-bleed seats up in the rafters meaning I couldn't give the Derp God himself my proper uninterupted slavishly devoted attention.

Dara O' Briaen to me is like showing Edward Cullen/Sparklewood/Robert "Scruffy Footface" Pattenson to a retarded twelve year old and so, bereft and in dire need of nourishment, I figured a before-noon McRibwich of some discription would give me a reason to be cheerful if I might use an Ian Dury analodgy.

Walking into before-noon McDonalds was like stepping into an alternate dimension were screaming, inbred dole babies didn't rattle the rafters with atomic diaper deposits and their high-pitched, heroin-withdrawing screetching and the floors were not yet sticky.

Holy zombie Jesus, the place was virtually deserted, devoid of pathetic excuses for life and save for a delightfully chatty Polish Punk Jedward fella that I flocked to on account of his smashingly 80s style application of buzzcutting thunderbolts into the shorn sides of his purple quiff, the place was like being in opposite land.

It was breath-takingly beautiful, gleaming with just-been-washed shininess untouched by sticky children's fingers and pyjama wearing chemical zombies.

I was dumbstruck for choice, terrified and entralled by this to a place I largely regarded as a bit of a kip that had a saving grace of really yummy ice cream concotions but giving I was jonsing for a sugar fix, I went for the first-time safety of the pancakes, expecting fried cardboard.

Those pancakes were the best goddamn f'ucking pancakes I've ever eaten outside of the ever-superior ones my culinary genuius of a mother whips up and at a bargain €2 a pop for 3 Wagon Wheel-sized patties with a gallon of deliscious golden syrup, I went back for seconds when I got up to grab a surprisingly refreshing latte to go, the rocket fuel for this silly little post chronicalling an otherwise ordinary and insignifigent morning.

I am tripping balls over this and it goes to show just how utterly sheltered a life I lead for not waking up before noon most days of the week.

I think I found my junk food mecca, though Starbucks and KFC closely follow on Maccy D's gigantic red clown shoe heels.

The main reason I'm posting up here has to due with the fact that through the admittedly eye opening Molotov cocktail blast of getting my brain fried with what I suspect may have been head-shop acid all things considered, I have found my calling in life and I ache to write for a living.

So tell me, oh fine Gonzo-flavored lunatics of the Boardsie Asylum:

Chubsy do good?

EDIT FOR THE EPIC LULZY THEME SETTING:

Just checked the news on the Twilight_Sucks livejournal anti-fangasm I shoot the sparklevamp over.
THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER AND I MUST REPOST IT:

Also, thanks for the swift replies. My signature doesn't look so dubiously ironic now.

Terry · 04-08-2010 10:17am

tl;dr. Does this end with the Fresh Prince opening?

FearDark · 04-08-2010 10:20am

This

120_Minutes · 04-08-2010 10:28am

Kill your creative writing teacher, as at some point he's told you that you have talent.

mikom · 04-08-2010 10:30am

McChubbin wrote: »

Can you tell yet that I'm still recovering from the now surely infamous roofie incident that occured on International Zombie Drag Queen Appreciation Day?

I'd get a second opinion on the spiking............ I think you are actually having a breakdown.

"No. We can't stop here. This is guano country"

Wazdakka · 04-08-2010 10:32am

You need to learn to Hunter S Thompson better...

I give 4/10 for general rantyness.

pickarooney · 04-08-2010 10:37am

How long have you been like this for? I felt really uneasy reading that.

Bloody Nipples · 04-08-2010 10:40am

Little bits jumped out at me, something about fast food, falling off a seat and Hunter S. Thompson. Though I hope to God you weren't sober when you wrote this.