I’m a Murderer
I have a confession to make.
I’m a murderer.
I know it might be really weird to take right now. I mean this is only a blog. I mean, I telling you guys over a goddamn blog. But I really need you guys right now, because you’re my friends. I need to confide in you. I need to exorcise some demons ok?
You see I work at a restaurant called Philly Slim’s.
My weapon of choice: The Cheesesteak.
I feed unsuspecting victims, mounds of greasy red meat, fried in the fat of glutenous oil and pure cholesterol, and topped with slices of over saturated sodium and calories also known as cheese.
It’s not that I want to. I have to. I have these urges you know. I see a customer and simply greet them hello. They reply, “Uhhh yeah, let me get…” And then I’m instantly in kill mode.
“Did you want any fries or onion rings with that?”
“Did you want Double Steak?”
“I would recommend the Widow Maker. It’s got bacon, Cheese Whiz, AND onion rings!”
“DO YOU WANT TO DIE TONIGHT?!”
I hate it too, because it’s not quick like a gun. I watch the life escape from their bodies ever-so-slowly. I can’t help it, but I love to see their arteries strain for life. I can sense when the insulin levels become miscued to their glucose’s. I yearn to see them more and more out of breath with each greasy, ever-lasting bite.
I want to be normal. I’ve tried so hard. I’ve tried to deter them away from my madness. I tell them “Drink water instead of soda! You don’t need 69 grams of sugar with your sandwich!” or “Extra cheese is an extra 60 cents!”
Help me guys! Help me get through this. I don’t want to hurt anybody anymore. I love people. I really do. I need to learn how to love them again before it’s too late…
“Hi welcome to Philly Slim’s can I take your order?”
