...quite as often as I should've...
So sang The King.
the Burger King, that is!
Seems some bloke (who didn't die on the toilet) lived his life eating Whoppers, so as the funeral cortegé drove to the cemetery, it took a detour through a Bugger King Drive thru' to stock up on BK (not-Mc)Whoppers for an afterlife repast.
I guess the dearly departed was misheard. He wanted to die in the presence of Whore's Meat. Tits and Flange and Ass of Ladies Of This Night. And instead, his dying wish was interpreted as Horse Meat, which BK banned from their burgers as a precaution.
or something.
Still, I guess being cremated surrounded by Big Tasty Bacon Cheeseburgers constitues Flame Grilled. And probably makes the crematorium smell a lot nicer too. I think if I cop it, and I'm being consigned to the flames, I'd much prefer to spend eternity haunting Pretties in showers with the aroma of Texan BBQ wings rather than a whiff of fag ash.
Only in America...
...but no - it's not in America! It's in Dracula country! The dark Wallachian country of Pennsylvania. Mwah ha ha ha ha! One burger, a-a-ha! Two burger, a-ha-ha! Count zem. Count all ze burgers in ze grave! And zen count ze veins in ze neck of ze virgin daughters of ze nubile young widow... mwah ha ha ha ha!
