Some bullshit about some fuckin' bastard in the McDonalds fuckin' drive thru

I dunno if it’s me fuckin’ Scottish heritage or what, but when the McBogan needs sustenance, he usually nips in to Mickey D’s, you know how it fuckin’ is. But when I say ‘nips in’, what I’m really sayin’ is I pull a few mean-arse fuckin’ donuts in the carpark for anyone whose lookin’ then it’s straight to the fuckin’ drive-thru for me, mate. I’m a bloke with places to go n’ all that shit, hey? A bloke on the fuckin’ move. Orright!

But today, mate, there was some fuckin’ dickhead who spent at least three fuckin’ minutes putting in his order before me, and fuck I was pissed off! After the first 30 seconds, I could see this shit was goin’ fuckin’ nowhere fast, so I started barping me horn, shakin’ me fuckin’ fist, callin’ him all sortsa fuckin’ names under the sun. Then, I got outta me Commodore n’ fuckin’ went up to the drive-thru speaker meself. Someone needed to take fuckin’ charge, hey? And so I said into the drive-thru speaker to the bloke at the other end:

“No wuckin’ furries, mate, the McBogan’s here! This fuckin’ bastard will have five fuckin’ upsized Big Mac McValue meals to go, orright! And throw in some strawberry McSundaes and some McApple pies and whatever other fuckin' lard-ridden McShit you can think of. Oh yeah, and some McDonaldland cookies for the little tackers, hey?”

Then, I turned to the bloke in his car who looked, I dunno, either really pissed off or like he was completely shittin’ bricks (like I gave a fuck), and I said:

“Christ, mate, you’re obviously a fat fucker, and so’s your fuckin’ missus, no offense, lady! And it looks like you’re well fuckin’ versed in the ways of Ronald Mcfuckin'Donald, hey? So what gives with fuckin’ takin’ so long? They don’t fuckin’ give numbers to this shit for nothin’. So, next time, don’t be a cunt, and make it fuckin’ snappy! Decide be-fuckin'-forehand, orright?”

I know, you might be thinkin’ to yourself:

“Fuck, Shane, you’re a judgemental prick, aren’t ya?”

Well, that’s what me Nanna said when I got back in the car, anyway.

And the answer is no, Nanna, I’m fuckin’ not. I might eat this shit everyday, but I’m a fuckin’ skinny bastard, so I fuckin’ can, can’t I? I take fuckin’ care of meself. And, I ALWAYS know what I wanna eat, Quarter Pounder McValue Meal for everyday use, and a fuckin’ Fillet O’ Fish for Good Friday, you know, for Jesus’ birthday n’ all that fuckin’ shit. So don't take me on, or it'll come to fuckin' blows, I tell ya.

End of fuckin’ story!

Orr-fuckin’-right!