The following was submitted May 1st at 9:30 am eastern standard time.
One of our testaments to dedications here at Pasquinade press is ensuring that news stories we are witness to become available to the public as soon as we can scramble to our nearest mobile device. Be it a laptop, or in this case a smart phone since said laptop is overflowing with pornography related spyware. In any case, this dedicated journalist is currently witness to a potentially explosive scene. Far worse then any attempt at a bombing, this is a play by play working of Kevin Smith at a Burger King. For those of you unfamiliar, Kevin Smith is a well known filmmaker and New Jersey native, most renowned for the creation of foul mouthed New Jersey stereotypes beloved by kids with wallet chains the world over. I have just observed Mr. Smith take his seat in a booth which he fits quite snugly. My reasoning for his visit is most likely due to some sort of love for Jersey/eating, leaning towards the latter passion. I will now provide concise bullet points on the events ensuing.
-9:40: I begin waiting for Kevin Smith to order. He sits at the booth as if this is a restaurant with servers
-9:50: Mr. Smith has been sitting for ten minutes, a listless Jabba the Huttesque shape. He eventually removes a back scratcher from a physiologically present pocket and prods a passing employee. They have a momentary discourse and Mr. Smith moves slug like to the counter.
-9:55: Mr. Smith has finished ordering. There was no line in front of him. The employee taking his order has paled at the quantity of food he must unleash into Kevin Smith’s gullet.
-10:00: The food arrives. This is some A-class service. It is also a potential Hindenberg of fecal matter. One XL order of fries and one XL order of onion rings. Two double whoppers, and adsfdsgafsghafg…four quad stackers. Mr. Smith stares at the food like I imagine Gargamel stares at The Smurfs.
-10:02: Kevin Smith completes the meal. There are no words.
-10:04: Mr. Smith begins to loudly demand an after dinner mint, laughing gutturally and also requesting Han Solo in carbonite be brought to him. The seriousness of this second request is legitimately unclear. Upon being denied said mint Smith begins to shudder and his eyes roll back in his head. Sweet Jesus.
-10:04: 50: The burger king and I are covered in vomit, in the same quantity I imagine a whale’s penis would dispense semen during a drown out. It took me twenty seconds to wipe the screen clean of what appear to be liquidated bacon bits.
10:06: Smith unapologetically toddles out of the burger king. Time to q-tip beef out of my ears.