Although I think we all can agree my words are ageless, I am not. For it was on today some many years ago that I was born. And as I burst forth from my mother's vagina, so did hope, joy, and hilarity burst into the world in portions previously only hypothesized by scientists and imagined by theologians.

To celebrate the giving of me to you, I went to McDonald's for lunch. This is something of a custom for me, as I am a great fan of the Shamrock Shake. For those of you who have not yet experienced the Shamrock Shake, it is a minty and very green milkshake served by McDonald's only in the weeks leading up to St. Patrick's Day. My birthday -- again, today -- very nearly coincides with the Irish holiday, and as a boy I came to associate the minty thick delicium of the Shamrock Shake with the good feelings of the days leading up to one's birthday. As a man, I celebrate not so much getting older as I do the joy I bring to those around me, but I still like to do it with a Shamrock Shake.

So today I pulled into the drive-through lane at my local McDonalderia. I opened my window to the warm sun, the cool air, and the speaker.

"Melcomba Micdonealeds, can I kelp jew?"

Terrific. I'll bet the woman making my green shake doesn't even have a green card, let alone an appreciation for the great Irish culture or a grasp of English."

"Do you have Shamrock Shakes?"

"Whut sise?"

"I'd like a large, please." Why not? It's only once a year, and I'm here to celebrate me.

"Whut flafer jew like?"

"I'd like a Shamrock Shake. Shamrock flavored."

"We haf chocolatay, baneeya, e strawbeddy."

Here we go. "You don't have Shamrock Shakes?"

"¿Que?"

And so once again, the fucking Mexicans have ruined my birthday.


Uncle O'Grimace, above, is the anthropomorphic representation of the Shamrock Shake

Analogcabin @ 1:26 PM
Permalink |