That burger doesn’t look half bad, right? Wrong! It looks all bad. Why? Because there’s no fucking cheese on it!
Who subscribes to this sort of idiocy? What sort of heathen prepares such a thing? What’s more, what type of cretin has the nerve to order a burger sans cheese? It’s criminal, really. You know who enjoys this sort of crime against humanity? Nazis. Well, Nazis and people who eat peanut butter sandwiches. The must-have jelly is the lubricant to that too-dry peanut butter, just as the glorious cheese is the creamy component to the juicy burger. (And by the way, “juicy” can fuck off, as well. Seriously, it’s just a horrible sounding word. Furthermore, we now use it to describe both cuts of meat and women’s asses. Sorry, but I don’t like to associate the two, so fuck yourself, juicy.)
“Mach schnell mit meine hamburger!”
Look, a cheeseburger is one of the greatest joys in this world. Those who know me have often times heard me sing the praises of a great cheeseburger. In fact, I find it perfectly acceptable to go out for a nice meal and order a burger because, when done correctly, it’s as good as any high-end cut of beef. But what makes that burger so goddamn delicious is not just the meat and the done-ness, but the goddamn cheese, you lactose-intolerant buffoons!
Boy 1: “Hey, Timmy, you wanna’ suck on my stick?”
Boy 2: “No can do, Rob. I’m lactose intolerant. And straight.”
Let me go on record and say that the greatest burger I’ve ever eaten — ever — is the cheeseburger from Mrs. Park’s Tavern in Chicago’s Doubletree Hotel. Seriously, I’ve never had a finer burger. And, sure, there are other great burger joints in Chicago (e.g., Jury’s), as well as other great burger joints nationwide. But the cheeseburger from Mrs. Park’s Tavern is unequaled. Don’t believe me? Disagree? Well, you’re wrong. On this I won’t bend. Granted, if you care to FedEx me a cheeseburger from the competitor of your choice, by all means.
If you’re still not convinced of just how crucial the cheese is to the burger, ask yourself this: would you eat an Italian sub sans provolone? A Philly steak sans Whiz? A Reuben sans sauerkraut? Bottom line is that some things aren’t to be fucked with, and a cheeseburger is one of those staples. And, sure, some of you will again go back to the “I can’t eat Dairy” bullshit, or your unwillingness to pay the extra quarter for a slice of cheese on your burger. Either way, you’re an unbelievable ass. Food is to be enjoyed the right way, friend. If you’re going to shit all over my beloved cheeseburger, I ask you, what’s next? Burning the American flag?
Hamburgers: As Communist as Mao!
Enjoy your hamburger, McCarthy. Me and the rest of the common man will be enjoying our med-rare cheeseburgers with a nice cold beer while you and your unrefined palette chow down on well done frozen patties from your local fast food shithole. You’re all red, fuckos!
Well, that’s gonna’ do it for this time. Until “I” tunnels its way into your skull like an earwig, have at it, you vultures!