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Just Because This Band Meeting Is In The Nice McDonald’s Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Make A Scene

Well, here we are, the McDonald’s near the park with all the ducks. No dried smears of ketchup on every other table, no divorced dads fighting over the corner booth so they can have a proper sit-down meal with their kids, nobody trying to sell us dirt weed in the parking lot. Hell they got a working ice cream machine and a table for people with peanut allergies!

Yes sir, no doubt about it, this McDonald’s is the nice McDonald’s. And if you think that’s going to stop me from making a scene when you tell me whatever it is you brought me hear to tell me, you are fucking dreaming.

That’s right, I can smell which way the wind is blowing. Last time we came here was the night you told me about the new guitar player, so forgive me if I smell a fuckin’ trap.

Is this about the new song?

You see I can’t help but thinking that you can’t help but thinking that telling me my 8-minute guitar solo and spoken word passage are cut over a meal at the McCafe with the player piano will stop me from going ape shit Well, you were wrong because I will flip my shit RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW and I’ll start my rampage py punching Mr. Mac Tonight right in his goddamn moon-face so HELP ME GOD!

My contributions to “Fuckhouse Paradise” are important artistic accomplishments, and they will not go quietly into that good night, no Sir! I will make this tray rain cheeseburgers all over this floor without remorse, and I don’t care if any of the Jackson-Hewitt temps pretending to be real CPAs or Kohl’s shift managers in cheap blazers hear me!

Ever since we got those extra drink tickets last month, you guys have gone Hollywood. You might like to eat at the McDonald’s where the Happy Meal toy is from a movie still in the theaters, but I haven’t forgotten where I come from or why I joined this band!

We used to be about THE MUSIC! Give me a regular McDonald’s any day of the week, and I’ll eat with regular, working-class people! This band isn’t an excuse to become out-of-touch rock stars that hang out in the only McDonald’s with a stash of Szechuan Sauce not already pillaged by Rick and Morty fans!

For fuck’s sake, the McRib is somehow always on the menu! Take a look at yourselves, you sorry bunch of sellouts. You ought to be ash–

Hey, why’s there a cake at this table? Ah, shit. It’s Derrick’s birthday isn’t it? Forget I said anything, happy birthday Derrick, best drummer ever!