The Devil has the power to take on many forms. To be more precise, there are exactly six different manifestations of the Anti-Christ. They are as follows :

1. a cloven-hoofed beast with horns who reeks of sulfur

2. a beautiful raven haired temptress who entices people with her sexuality (picture Elvira, only much younger and with a tighter ass)

3. a goofy bastard in a red body suit who has a pitchfork

4. a stupid Irish clown who peddles cow flesh

5. a royal jackass who peddles cow flesh

6. an adorable little red haired girl who peddles cow flesh

These last three manifestations of the Prince of Darkness are what we have come to call the “Peddlers of the Cow Flesh” and they truly suck. Let’s start with the damn clown. First of all, everyone knows that clowns are evil to begin with, so it should come as no great surprise that this red haired freak with the painted on smile is trying to kill us all slowly with red meat and french fried potatoes. We are becoming a Nation of fat unhealthy bastards as the disembodied voice emanating from the drive-thru speaker tempts us with tantalizing questions like, “would you like to super-size that?” and “how about a hot delicious apple pie?” And of course, if you’re like me, you probably respond by saying something along the lines of “Yes, you fuckin’ son of a bitch, I do want pie, because you know what, two Double Quarter Pounders with cheese, a shit load of fries, and a chocolate shake is not sufficient to satisfy me. I need more. And while your at it, why don’t you give me a 20 piece Mcnugget and what the hell, how about a Filet O’ Fish as well, because you know how I love seafood. And maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, you could send out that big purple blob Grimace to give me a blow job, because Lord knows, I haven’t been able to get a woman to come anywhere near my super-sized ass in years! I trusted in you, Ronald, and you led me astray with your hip commercials that made me think I would find happiness at the Golden Arches. Well I am most definitely not ‘Lovin It!’ It’s more like ‘I’m a Fat Pathetic Slug-like Creature Living in Shame!’ Why don’t you put that in a catchy little jingle, you lying sadistic piece of shit clown!”

Then you have the Burger King. Sure, at first, he might seem wonderful and all with his crown and fancy outfit. But I assure you that beneath this grand façade is a mean spirited bearded fellow with a plastic head who is out to enslave us all. You probably think I’m just saying this because I’m bitter. Maybe I had a bad experience at Burger King one time. Perhaps I once ordered a Whopper with cheese and distinctly remember telling the young lady behind the counter to hold the onions only to find out later that the onions had not been held. Yes, I could have removed them myself and let it go at that, but it was the principle of the damn thing. I won’t be taken advantage of. So there I was, pants around my ankles, screaming “Have it your way, My Ass” at anyone who would listen while throwing onions and spitting at the adolescent cashier who had so viciously betrayed me. Next thing I knew, I was being hauled off to jail. Obviously, the Burger King controls the police as well. He has law enforcement eating out of his hand just like the fuckin’ media. So I guess that’s how it is. You can be a cowering sheep who meekly accepts unwanted onions or you can stand up for yourself and be thrown into prison. Either way, you are destined to be somebody’s bitch. And to think, we are supposed to be living in a democracy. Seems more like a Burger Dictatorship if you ask me.

Lastly, there is that little red headed girl who finally broke my spirit completely. As if it wasn’t bad enough that these “Peddlers of the Cow Flesh” had turned me into a mindless super-sizing robot, Wendy had to go and take it one step further. I may have been a pear-shaped babe repelling monster, but at least I had managed to retain some shred of my manhood. That was until Wendy replaced the term “super-size” with “biggie-size”. I remember it like it was yesterday. I went up to the drive-thru to order my usual. “Can I get a number 4 with a coke?” And then the fateful words just slipped right out of my mouth, “Could you make that biggie-sized?” And that was it. The price of the meal combo was $5.19, however, the true cost was infinitely greater because, for all intents and purposes, I had effectively turned in my genitals at the drive-thru window that fateful evening. For, you see, a grown man willing to utter the term “biggie-sized” for a few extra french fries is no man at all and to tell you the truth, I’ve never been the same since. Sure, it is true that Wendy’s did away with the whole “biggie-size” thing a while back, but I’m afraid that the damage to my psyche is irreversible. Believe me, there have been many a lonely night when, in a drunken naked stupor, I have stumbled into a Wendy’s weeping and pleading to have my manhood returned to me. Unfortunately, the fact is that I am destined to live out my life as a pathetic wretch who can never escape the haunting reality that I once uttered the term “biggie” in a public setting.

So let my story act as a cautionary tale. Do not be deceived by the wicked “Peddlers of the Cow Flesh” for they will only lead you down the road to heartache and suffering. Lord knows, if I had it to do all over again, I would have eaten lots more fried chicken and who knows, I might have been speaking to you today as a man and not as the grotesque and sexless freak that I have become.