C'mon, people! There's only one reason why anyone would willingly join one lane of above average income earners, sitting in traffic going absolutely nowhere, and that my friends, is The Chickenburger.
That neon chicken draws me in like a fat chick on a drunk guy. Now that they have debit machines and a bigger parking lot, I say screw bathing suit season. Besides, I am in a recession, a depression, menopause and now an election. Let's eat.
I can never decide what to have when I am standing at the altar of all things valve clogging. Chickenburger with cranberry? Cheeseburger with the works? Or, the ever so alluring hot dog, loaded with cheese and fried onions. This morning's headline in the Horrid got me thinking about those exact bad-for-you choices. Choices that are all inevitably designed to kill you, but are somehow irresistible – and now – unavoidable.
"Government falls." There hasn't been two words that loaded with Tip Top Tailor bullshit since, "Me, Tarzan". Rodney's really bad Monday even shot Sidney's hat trick off the front page. But it got me back on the bottle, er the blog.
Let's put this all into some sort of perspective. We are now faced with three bona fide contenders. First up is the Chickenburger. Stephen MacNeil. More wholesome than the other two, and looks one hell of a lot better since some spin doctor advised him to lose the hillbilly beard. He's what, one of 23 kids for the love of Catholicism! I met the man when I worked on the Danny Graham Liberal campaign. (Oh, that's a whole other blog) Stephen MacNeil was very tall and very nice. Borderline boring white meat that needs a touch of cranberry to liven things up.
Then there's the cheeseburger. Sizzling on the back burner turning from pink to gray just waiting for a warm bun to be tossed its way. That's got to be Darrell Dexter. The man looks like he's made the odd trip to Bedford himself over the years. Nice enough guy, wears too many of those short-sleeve plaid shits with the buttons pulling a bit. Looks a bit like Barney Rubble crossed with John Goodman. Not exactly Obama on the sex-appeal monitor. Somehow, I always feel fat and guilty after ordering the cheeseburger.
Then there's the hot dog. Scraped up off the meat packers floor and poured into an ill-fitting suit. They don't call him RODney for nothing. You gotta love a man who rode the family values bus into the election, then stepped out on the Missus. Now back in the family home, and doing an okay job considering what he has to work with, it's time to see if Rodney has a set of kahunas under the kilt. I try not to think about what I'm eating when I am face-to-face with an adequately-dressed tube steak. Makes the swallowing easier.
And last time I checked there wasn't a heart smart salad on the Chickenburger menu. I don't even know who the leader of the Nova Scotia Green Party is. Ooh, just checked. Some cute young buck named Ryan Watson. Well good luck to you, Ryan.
Hey, I'm no Marilla Stephenson, but who can resist poking a little fun at what the next 35 days of stupidness will bring. Bad ads. Bad suits. Bad hair. Bad promises. Really bad timing. What the hell, all my shows are in re-runs, business sucks – I say bring on some reality-based comedy.
The Chickenburger, for the unenlightened, is at 1531 Bedford Highway.