Some friends conned me into joining them at Burger King. The most palletable looking item on the menu was the chicken sandwich. It was a pressed paddy and I'm sure it was deep fried.
There's nothing left to do now but sit around and wait for my limbs to go numb and bear up under the sharp, stabbing pains coming from my chest.
I think fast food is like smoking. You have to take a couple of Big Macs out behind the garage when you're 8 years old, knock them back, and puke a few times before you can go out in public and pretend to eat that shit like it's food.