Breakfast at Johnny Rockets

My cheat meal this week took place at Johnny Rockets, where I decided to slowly devour the awesome food of the western world known as America.

Let me walk you through the exotic delicacies our neighbors to the far west have to offer:

I started off with some good old fatty and carby Oreo milkshake, since I was the first one to arrive. They served it with whipped cream and a cherry on top, which I pornographically licked with J-Rock's abundantly large straw.

Upon the arrival of friend #1, I saw it fit to order an appetizing dish our exotic Americans called "french fries" and "onion rings". That goop on the right is referred to as "ketchup", a mixture of processed tomatoes, some spices, salt and plenty of ass-widening high fructose corn syrup.

Friends #2 and #3 finally made it (about funking time), which triggered me to order the "Route 66". 2 buns, 1 patty, 2 strips of bacon, 2 slices of cheese, onions, mushrooms and plenty of caloric love.

A close-up on the heavenly exotic sandwich. A total of 2,255 calories and a butt load to go. I'm not giving up America....

I was as satisfied as a 15 year-old boy who has just discovered ma$tur*ation, but something wasn't quite right.

Did America give up when they lost in Vietnam? No. Did America give up when it came to bombing them Hiroshima bastards? No sir. Did America take no for an answer in regards to anything? Funk no. I'm American (no I'm not), and I take pride in being an ignorant sonavabich. Yee haw.

2 patties, 4 strips of bacon, 2 slices of cheese, 1 egg, onions, J-Rock's special sauce, 2 buns, and a yippie kay yay motherf*cker.

I bitch slapped my health conscience by ending my indulgence in consuming a creation that could only be made in the most powerful place on Earth; some Apple Pie, served with a side order of America.

P.S. This was at 10 am.