My armour clad limousine pulled up outside this most regal of establishments. The home of kings. This jewel in the crown. This gilded city on the hill. My entourage of sycophants, mad men and brass band members (categories are not mutually exclusive and apply to most, if not all, of my crew and homies) followed behind.
The limousine came to a graceful hault. My entourage disembarked from from their carriages and unrolled my red carpet. The horn pipers stood single file on either side. The smoke machine operators cranked up the gennie. Smoke poured across the carpet and car park like the smoking area of a Wetherspoons on a Friday.
My car door was opened by my valet dressed in the skimpiest thong I could find (Grrrroooowwwwlllll....) I stood up from the seat and walked along the carpet to the fanfare of trumpet. My crown balanced elegantly upon my head.
The doors slid open and upon the clearing of the smoke I gasped out loud:
"Bugger me, this isn't Burger King. It's McDonalds..."
I ordered a Philly Cheese Steak Special Burger, fries and left.
McDonalds 5/5 read more