2003-11-10 - 10:36 p.m.

I scoff in the face of the season. It’s november, but I’m still not wearing a jacket. People are such pussies when it comes to the weather. I see all these idiots swaddling themselves in parkas and scarves, like they’re Scott of the Antarctic. Ooh, it’s slightly chilly! Better wear an extra 17 layers or I might freeze into a death skellington! I walked to Burger king wearing only a Ween t-shirt on my torso. I could feel the amazement of passers by. “Just a t-shirt!” I could hear them think. “Who is this this crazy, brave maverick?” I felt like the king of the world. I walked really swiflty and didn’t even notice the icicles dripping off my tattered forearms. It was a little chilly, but I felt liberated and (oh, the hilarity) cool.

I’m a pretty fearsome pedestrian. I like to get where I’m going quickly and it’s not like there’s anything to see on this island. I’m usually the master of inappropriate dress. I look out of my porthole and see precipitation. So I don my sou’wester, rain cape and galoshes and emerge into… surprising warmth. Having spent so long correctly attiring myself, I’m usually too lazy to go back and change, so I just stay as my am, feeling foolish and sweaty. It’s never the other way around. I don’t think I can recall a time when I’ve been too cold. That’s a lie. The first time I got really drunk I ended up sleeping in some hay bail in some ghastly rural area. I thought I was going to die. But, apart from that, my body temperature is always a mercurial high. It’s a shame because I like cardigans. Some offices are just so stuffy and sulfurous it always amazes me to see their occupants wearing tank tops and suchlike.

So I’m getting my hangover food at the burger bar and I’m struck dumb that the spotty minion serving me isn’t embarking on a killing spree. Why do people work in these places? 3 cents an hour in a hot plastic pod, asking “what drink would you like? Sitting in or taking away?” 7000 times a day. Do none of them just snap and scream “no stupidly named fast food for you motherfuuuuuucker! Aaaargh!” How do they do it? Why not work as a harbour master or a shepherd or something instead? Part time work is all fine and dandy, but working in Burger King would be torturous. Why can’t these fools see that? Why do they hate themselves so much? I want to reach across the counter and stick their heads in the fucking milkshake machine until they see sense. After they’ve given me my beefy delight.

KFC beats them into a cocked hat anyway. For voodoo created snack food, Kentucky Fried Chicken (ha – I still know what you stand for!) manages to hoodwink the diner into thinking they’re eating something real. I’m an unashamed KFC junkie. I sometimes wake up and think about what I’m going to order from them. They’ve put something in the chicken that gives me these thundering cravings. The greasy doorknob, the constant licking of the fingers… It’s a life of stupid addiction that I lead. Ah, fuck it. It’s better than being some cowardly Buddhist.

No jackets and fast food. I spit on thee, healthy eating and heavy cloaks! I’m doing it my way.

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