Hello Darkness! The Official Blog of Helen Keller

Imagine if you were standing in line at the movie theater. Picture it to be a nice multiplex with perhaps, 6 screens. The first 4 screens all have something decent on them; Harry Potter is playing on two of them, followed by MegaMind and Due Date. The kind of movies that, while perhaps representing Hollywood grist milled by faceless executives in search of a profit, are also the shit you would actually see. Screen 5 is showing something artsy, but you've heard of it. I'm not sure what's out right now, but something like The Kids are Alright.

Now, Screen 6, the last screen, is showing amateur footage of a hobo barfing in a plastic bag. In Russian. With Greek subtitles. But the hobo is from Staten Island and his barf is from a bad felafel he stole. It is CLEARLY intended to be nothing more than filler for the movie theater. The employees use it to nap or give each other STDs. The manager would really like to get involved, but his wife already doesn't trust him after he got caught writing lewd Tweets to Natalie Portman.

So, you're in line. The couple ahead of you insist on tickets to Moscow Hobo Barf. The cashier doesn't know what to do. The Screen 6 button fell off the register a long time ago and there was never any pressing need to fix it. "Uh, fuck, just go in" she says and shoots a confused "WTF?" to the ticket-taker.

I write this because there's something similar that I've seen a few times now.

Ordering the wrong shit at a restaurant. Swiss Chalet clearly put hamburgers on the menu because the CEO's kid whined and farted till his dad caved and put them on. Nobody in the kitchen knows how to cook a burger, they don't have the condiments and the best result you're going to get is a recently purchased Whopper patty squished in between two rotisseried legs. If you're lucky, they used Festive Special Stuffing as the bun.

Swiss Chalet is goddamned geared to whip chickens out of the kitchen that a menu is pretty much a formality for you to gaze over before ordering the bloody chicken. As soon as you walk in the door they ladle your sauce into the bowl, pour fries on a plate and wait to find out if you're a breast or leg man. Asking for the hamburger fucks with their heads. They only make minimum wage, the application for the job is one page long and they’ll hire convicts; they are not equipped to deal with your shit.

Ditto ordering chicken….at Montana’s. It’s not tasty, their Chalet sauce is entirely made of snot and they don’t care if you know. If you wear a crown around with “King Fucklord” engraved in it, order the chicken at Montana’s. They want you to have ribs and beer; otherwise, go to fucking Swiss Chalet.

The same is true of McDonald’s. Anything that isn’t a burger, fries or a Coke is an exercise in reality avoidance.

Except the chicken nuggets. They’re cool.