DONALD'S MUCK

Next to the supermarket down here in Chickentown, there is a McDonalds. (I'm always astonished by the number of people that consider the place as somewhere to go for their Sunday lunch). Every time I go into the supermarket car park I look over at the far flung corners of the car park, where all the cap-wearing peanut-headed white tracksuit wearing scrawny little scrotes hang out in their shiny Vauxhall Novas comparing alloys.

You can see where they've been parked, sitting in their motors and talking shit to each other out of their windows. Because the ground is covered in all that food packaging crap and styrofoam cartons and brown paper bags. Litterbugging lazy shitbag little fucks, all of them.

You know, what does it take to walk over to a bin a few yards away and chuck your shit in that?

If I was the manager of McFuckingDonalds, and I knew who these twats were, the next time they came in to buy BigTurd and fries, I would empty it all onto the counter with no packaging whatsoever. No wrappers, no bags, no nothing - just hand it over loose. "Here you go, nobs, just put it all in the pockets of your baggy-assed jeans, squirt a bit of ketchup and some salt down there and it will all mix up nicely by the time you get back to the motor. Just remember to take the burger out of your ass-pocket before you get in it."

That way, these bastards would be less likely to dirty the place up with all that shit.

Bill Turnip