Oh, so that’s how it is, is it? You click the burger, you get a burger. No. No burgers will be eaten. Not under my roof. While you’re in my house you abide by my rules.
You’d assume that my long standing voyage into vegetarianism would render working for McDonald’s as something of an internal conflict. I think it’s telling of how eroded I am as a human being that I accept the slaughtered lamb dollar with little more than a sigh and the moderate raising of a single eyebrow. If that, even. What next? Chicken Cottage? An actual abattoir? THE CAMBODIAN KILLING FIELDS?
Truth is, there’s a very large chance I despise urban music more than the senseless, unecessary destruction of animals. I’d be sickened to have to see a pig have its throat slit, convulsing in horrific pain as its life slowly ebbs away in a stinking dungeon, but then I’d probably rather that than have to sit though a two hour gig by some talentless, repetitive shithouse like Akon.
To summarise, I did a fair few of these, but I was a full time employee for three years, so I largely had no choice. Not if I wanted to keep the cupboards full of mung beans, tofu and <insert stereotypical vegetarian foodstuff to the hilarity of carnivorous onlookers>.
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