Burgers Funny Quotes

I don't wanna be def. Death. Dead. This Burger Twin nappykin just got served as my will, BEOTCH! The fries here suck, by the way. If I die, don't feed my son your shitty fries. Don't give my son to the creepy child molester king you put in your commercials either. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? He's got a normal body and a plastic face that is always smiley. It's not right, man. It's just not right. My ears feel funny.

So Jason, in England, do you eat these ‘Farmer burgers?’” Wong Tong asked. “Farmer burgers? I don’t know what they are?” “Maybe I have the name wrong. I remember the name from the song,” Wong Tong explained. “What song?” Jason asked. “You know the ‘E, I, E, I, O’ song.” ‘E, I, E, I, O’ song? Jason started to roar with laughter. He tried to speak but was laughing, much to the annoyance of Wong Tong. He held his chest, laughing still hurt his ribs. “You mean the ‘Old Macdonald had a farm’ song. You mean Macdonald’s burgers,” he said, laughing. “Yes, I have had them. They’re good.

Mooooon!” said the Ogre. “Tranquility …” Then he pointed at the full moon. “Neil Armstrong walked in a sea of tranquility.” Then he added, “It’s made of cheese. But you have to take off the plastic before you put it on a burger.” Mikey sighed. “What’s his story?” the wraith asked. “He’s chocolate,” Mikey said.

Eat clean to stay fit, have a burger to stay sane.

Occasionally, a dog will be presented as some training method for having a baby. "My girlfriend and I got a dog. We are going to see if we can handle that before we have kids." This is a little like testing the waters of being a vegetarian by having lettuce on your burger. Okay, maybe that metaphor doesn't make sense, but neither does using a dog as a training method for having a baby.

Be honest, but don’t hurt anyone’s feelings be independent, but not a loner be smart, but not a nerd be sexy, but not a slut be skinny, but don’t barf up your burger be funny, but not to hide some other deficiency.

Brooke stared in surprise. “You brought me lunch?” “I was in the neighborhood.” She checked out the label on the bag. “DMK is twenty minutes from here.” “I was in that neighborhood, and now I’m here,” he said in exasperation. “Seriously, woman, you are impossible to feed.” He strode over and set the bag on her desk. “One cheeseburger with spicy chipotle ketchup and a side of sweet potato fries—chosen specifically for a certain spicy and sweet girl I know—and a green dill pickle for your eyes. So there.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Brooke studied him. “You seem very ornery right now.” “As a matter of fact, I am.” “Why?” “I don’t know,” he huffed. “Just . . . eat your Brooke Burger. Stop asking so many questions. Sometimes a guy just wants to buy a girl lunch. Any objections to that? Good. Enjoy your Sunday, Ms. Parker.” He strode out of her office, gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Brooke stared at the doorway and blinked.

She chews a supremely large bite of her burger with a moan, eyes closed, balloon hat askew, cheese and sauce on her chin. That’s mine, I think. She’s mine.

He believed that a burger joint ought to look like a join, not like a surgery, not like a nursery with pictures of clowns and funny animals on walls, not like a bamboo pavilion on a tropical island, not like a glossy plastic replica of a 1950s diner that never actually existed. If you were going to eat charred cow smothered in cheese, with a side order of potato strips made as crisp as ancient papyrus by immersion in boiling oil, and if you were going to wash it all down with either satisfying quantities of icy beer or a milkshake containing the caloric equivalent of an entire roasted pig, then this fabulous consumption ought to occur in an ambience that virtually screamed guilty pleasure, if not sin.

A BURGER AND FRIES FIXES EVERYTHING

Yo mama is so old… she knew Burger King while he was still a prince.

So why don’t you eat meat, Cam?” Jeremiah asked, stuffing half his burger into his mouth. Cam swallowed his water and said, “I’m morally opposed to eating animals.” Jeremiah nodded seriously. “But Belly eats meat. You let her kiss you with those lips?” Then he cracked up. Susannah and my mother exchanged a knowing kind of smile. I could feel my face getting hot, and I could feel how tense Cam was beside me. “Shut up, Jeremiah.” Cam glanced at my mother and laughed uneasily. “I don’t judge people who choose to eat meat. It’s a personal choice.” Jeremiah continued, “So you don’t mind when her lips touch dead animal and then touch your, um, lips?” Susannah chuckled lightly and said, “Jere, give the guy a break.” “Yeah, Jere, give the guy a break,” I said, glaring at him. I kicked him under the table, hard. Hard enough to make him flinch. “No, it’s fine,” Cam said. “I don’t mind at all. In fact-“ Then he pulled me to him and kissed me quickly, right in front of everyone. It was only a peck, but it was embarrassing. “Please don’t kiss Belly at the dinner table,” said Jeremiah, gagging a little for effect. “You’re making me nauseous.” My mother shook her head at him and said, “Belly’s allowed to kiss.” Then she pointed her fork at Cam. “But that’s it.” She burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever said, and Susannah tried not to smile and told her to hush. I wanted to kill my mother and then myself. “Mom, please. You’re so not funny,” I said. “No more wine for Mom.” I refused to look anywhere near Jeremiah’s direction, or Cam’s, for that matter.

It didn’t take long for us to realize, though, that we hadn’t eaten since the eggs twenty-four hours earlier. Eating was the one desire of the flesh we hadn’t fulfilled. I remembered seeing a McDonald’s near the entrance of our hotel, and since I needed a little exercise I offered to dart out for some safe and predictable American food, which would tide us over till the dinner we had reservations for that night. Our blood sugar was too low to comb the city, looking for a place to have a quick lunch. I knew Marlboro Man was a ketchup-only guy when it comes to burgers, and that’s what I ordered when I approached the counter: “Hamburger, ketchup only, please.” “Sar…you only want kitchipinmite?” the innocent clerk replied. “Excuse me?” “Kitchipinmite?” “Uh…pardon?” “You jis want a hamburger with kitchipinmite?” “Uh…what?” I had no idea what the poor girl was saying. It took me about ten minutes to realize the poor Australian woman behind the counter was merely repeating and confirming my order: kitchip (ketchup) inmite (and meat). It was a traumatic ordering experience. I returned to the hotel room, and Marlboro Man and I dug into our food like animals. “This tastes a little funny,” my new husband said. I concurred. The mite was not right. It didn’t taste like America.

She was called a cook, but there was no real evidence she had even a small amount of ability to do this. Every meal, no matter how much you thought you liked it before, would be ruined forever after having one of Margery’s slop versions of it. Burger and Chips or Lasagne, as Mike liked, were gruesomely murdered by the time Margery had used the ingredients (and added some special ones of her own!) to deliver a pile of gruel. It did not matter what the menu said; when served, it was always green, even if none of the ingredients were actually green! “Nexxxttt! Hey, you, I said NEXXTT!!!” she shouted at the violet boy who had hesitated to wonder if life was really worth this. “What’s your name, boy? Speak up now and tell me which class you are in?” This was a usual evil method Margery used so children had to give up holding their breath and smell the putrid stench of her sweaty BO mixed with the green muck she scooped from a giant vat beside her. The poor boy nearly passed out when it hit him, but, fortunately, his friend helped him stay up. He quickly grabbed his tray and sloshed his green slush all over as he ran for freedom. NNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXXXXXXXXXXXTTTTTTT!!!

It’s so old, I think when it opened, Burger King was still a prince.

It is against the law to use polar bear meat to make burgers.

He sauntered to the counter. “What can I do for you?” The red bandana he wore held back the hair that typically covered his eyes. I loved his eyes. Chocolate-brown, full of mischief and a spark ready to light the world on fire. “Can I have a glass of water, please?” And please let it be free. “Is that it?” My stomach growled, loud enough for Noah to hear. “Yep, that’s it.” He fixed me a glass and handed it to me. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a burger? A nice thick burger on a toasted bun with salty fries on the side?” I sucked on my straw, gulping the ice water down. Funny, water didn’t give me that warm, fuzzy, full feeling like a burger and fries would. “I’m fine, thank you.” “Suit yourself. You see that nice-looking piece of meat right there?” He motioned to the patty frying. The aroma made my mouth water.

Unfortunately, it’s become ingrained in me, making me believe some-thing is wrong with me. My shape became more womanly the older I got. But my mom, she’s not used to curves, and in her mind, I'm overweight, simply because we don't share the same proportions. But I don’t know what she expected. Her husband, the other half of my DNA, looks nothing like the ginger hair, freckled, thin-framed side of my mom’s family. My parents couldn't be more different. Sure, there's the physical disparities. My dad is a black man, and my mom is a white woman. But more than that, their personalities are polar opposites. My dad is funny and kind, nurturing. My mom is cold, distant, and outright mean sometimes. I want to be proud that I’m half of a remarkable man, but it’s hard to be proud of anything when my own mother is disappointed in everything I do. And for some reason now, it seeps in more than it used to. As the bartender places my burger down in front of me, a quick regret paces through my mind. The more I think about my mother, the less appealing this food sounds. Maybe I should’ve ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Maybe my uniform will fit a little better tomorrow if I eat that instead.

In the neighborhood, it was so wild that even the fast food joints had bulletproof glass. I thought I was ordering a burger, not robbing a bank. Andrei had to explain to me that it wasn't a local delicacy. It was a mystery to me how a place for quick bites became a place for quick bucks. -Kim Lee ‘The Big Apple Took a Bite Off Me’ Now on Amazon Books and Kindle

Isn't the person who endlessly shoves Five Guys burgers into her mouth, all the while allowing her muffin top to grow exponentially, the one with the mental health issue?

Yes, Russian movies best.” Jason snorted, relaxing a little at the familiar joke. “Yeah, the best at being long and boring. Congratulations.” “You American, have no taste. All you want is burger movie.” Jason, who had been friends with Sasha long enough—fuck, had it really been three years already?—to translate his weird phrases, rolled his eyes. “You were laughing your ass off at Zombieland like, yesterday.” “That is not fast burger movie—” “Fast food,” Jason corrected. “That is good movie. No taste.” “I’m not saying I didn’t like it, I’m just saying—” “You always ‘just saying’. I’m not listen to American anymore.

Dog Farts:Dogs may be man’s best friends but dog farts remain among the most rancid and foul smelling things ever to enter a human nostril. In fact the rectal stench of K9 back blasters have been plaguing human populations for tens of thousands of years. There a lot of different reasons we put up with our Fido’s stinky dog butt, but the main reason is so we can have someone to blame our own stinkoid bottom cheek claps on. Best of all, as Fido can’t speak he can’t deny it! 8. Vegetarian Humans: Ok, while not eating meat may be great for the animals, and help reduce your carbon footprint, it will turn you into a human rectal stink burger. There can be no question; all those soybeans come at a cost to your domestic air quality. As anyone who has ever had a macrobiotic hippie come to stay, vegetarians are champions when it comes to opening the basement window. 9.  Non Vegetarian Humans: Ok, well maybe it is not just the vegetarians. Meat eating humans can pretty ripe in the trouser department too.  In fact there really isn’t all that much in it, so if you are planning to chow down on a cow to keep your rump mist under control then you might be disappointed.

Elizabeth Green’s New York Times article “Why Do Americans Stink at Math?” is funny and not so funny. In it, she recounts how, in the 1980s, A. Alfred Taubman, owner of the A&W chain, attempted to win over customers from McDonald’s. To lure customers from McDonald’s Quarter Pounder hamburger, he advertised the A&W better-tasting burger that was, in contrast to the McDonald’s Quarter Pounder, a full one-third pounder. One-third of a pound versus one-quarter of a pound and at the same price! Great idea, right? Well, not if you don’t know one-third is more than one-fourth! Taubman called in his cutting-edge marketing firm, Yankelovich, Skelly & White, to find out why the A&W campaign was failing. A study had shown that, without question, respondents preferred the taste of A&W’s burger over McDonald’s. Except for one small glitch. “Why,” respondents asked, “should we pay the same amount for a third of a pound of meat at A&W as we do for a fourth of a pound at McDonald’s?” Since three is less than four, reasoned more than half of those questioned, A&W was really ripping them off! And the problem is not confined to hamburger connoisseurs. Medical professionals, it turns out, aren’t immune to fallacious math either. Doctors and nurses have also been known to err when calculating dosages for medications. The problem is prevalent enough, in fact, to support services that help simplify math for doctors and nurses, including Broselow.com, whose tagline is “Taking the math out of medicine.

I was going to become a human sand burger.

I started in our neighborhood, buying a pastrami burrito at Oki Dog and a deluxe gardenburger at Astro Burger and matzoh-ball soup at Greenblatt's and some greasy egg rolls at the Formosa. In part funny, and rigid, and sleepy, and angry. People. Then I made concentric circles outward, reaching first to Canter's and Pink's, then rippling farther, tofu at Yabu and mole at Alegria and sugok at Marouch; the sweet-corn salad at Casbah in Silver Lake and Rae's charbroiled burgers on Pico and the garlicky hummus at Carousel in Glendale. I ate an enormous range of food, and mood. Many favorites showed up- families who had traveled far and whose dishes were steeped with the trials of passageways. An Iranian cafe near Ohio and Westwood had such a rich grief in the lamb shank that I could eat it all without doing any of my tricks- side of the mouth, ingredient tracking, fast-chew and swallow. Being there was like having a good cry, the clearing of the air after weight has been held. I asked the waiter if I could thank the chef, and he led me to the back, where a very ordinary-looking woman with gray hair in a practical layered cut tossed translucent onions in a fry pan and shook my hand. Her face was steady, faintly sweaty from the warmth of the kitchen. Glad you liked it, she said, as she added a pinch of saffron to the pan. Old family recipe, she said. No trembling in her voice, no tears streaking down her face.

Be honest, but don’t hurt anyone’s feelings be independent, but not a loner be smart, but not a nerd be sexy, but not a slut be skinny, but don’t barf up your burger be funny, but not to hide some other deficiency. How the heck is a girl supposed to “be” anything?

Then came Dani’s turn to read a question. “‘Who’s in charge in the bedroom?’” Much to the group’s amusement, none of them got a match, and Sean didn’t think they would either as he held up his notepad. “‘I am, since I carry the big stick.’” Emma read hers with a remarkably straight face. “‘Sean, because he has a magic penis.’” “Wow. Um…so Sean and Emma have a point,” Dani said as the men nearly pissed themselves laughing. No way in hell was he leaving that unpunished, and he winked at Emma when Kevin read the next question. “‘Where’s the kinkiest place you’ve had sex?’” The fact that Joe and Keri had done the dirty deed on the back of his ATV led to a few questions about the logistics of that, but then it was Emma’s turn. “‘In bed, because Sean has no imagination.’” Roger threw an embarrassed wince his way, but his cousins weren’t shy about laughing their asses off. Sean just shrugged and held up his notepad. “In the car in the mall parking lot. Emma’s lying because she doesn’t want anybody to know being watched turns her on.” Her jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly and gave him a sweet smile that didn’t jibe with the “you are so going to get it” look in her eyes. Beth asked the next question. “‘Women, where does your man secretly dream of having sex?’” Keri knew Joe wanted to have sex in the reportedly very haunted Stanley Hotel, from King’s The Shining. Dani claimed Roger wanted to do the deed on a Caribbean beach, but he said that was her fantasy and that his was to have sex in an igloo. No amount of heckling would get him to say why. And when it came to Kevin, even Sean knew he dreamed of getting laid on the pitcher’s mound at Fenway Park. Then, God help him, it was Emma’s turn to show her answer. “‘In a Burger King bathroom.’” The room felt silent until Dani said, “Ew. Really?” “No, not really,” Sean growled. “Really,” Emma said over him. “He knows that’s the only way he can slip me a whopper.” As the room erupted in laughter, Sean knew humor was the only way they’d get through the evening with their secret intact, but he didn’t find that one very funny, himself. It was the final answer that really did him in, though. The question: “If your sex had a motto, what would it be?” Joe and Keri’s was, not surprisingly, Don’t wake the baby Kevin and Beth wrote, Better than chocolate cake, whatever that was supposed to mean. Dani wrote, Gets better with time, like fine wine, and Roger wrote, Like cheese, the older you get, the better it is, which led to a powwow about whether or not to give them a point. They probably would have gotten it if they weren’t tied with Keri and Joe, who took competitive to a cutthroat level. When they all looked at Sean, he groaned and turned his paper around. They’d lost any chance of winning way back, but he was already dreading what the smart-ass he wasn’t really engaged to had written down. “‘She’s the boss.’” The look Emma gave him as she slowly turned the notepad around gave him advance warning she was about to lay down the royal flush in this little game they’d been playing. “Size really doesn’t matter,” she said in what sounded to him like a really loud voice. Before he could say anything—and he had no idea what was going to come out of his mouth, but he had to say something--Cat appeared at the top of the stairs. “I hate to break up the party,” she said, “but it’s getting late, so we’re calling it a night.” Maybe Cat was, but Sean was just getting started.

Burger time

Yo mama is so old… she knew Burger King while he was still a prince. Yo mama is so old… her first pet was a T-Rex! Yo mama is so old… she took her driving test on a dinosaur! Yo mama is so old… her birth certificate says expired on it. Yo mama is so old… she dated George Washington! Yo mama is so old… she has an autographed Bible! Yo mama is so old… that her bus pass is in hieroglyphics! Yo mama is so old… her birth certificate is in Roman numerals. Yo mama is so old… she used to babysit Adam and Eve! Yo mama is so old… her memory is in black and white! Yo mama is so old… she was wearing a Jesus starter jacket! Yo mama is so old… she farts dust!

Yo mama is so old… she knew Burger King while he was still a prince. Yo mama is so old… her first pet was a T-Rex! Yo mama is so old… she took her driving test on a dinosaur! Yo mama is so old… her birth certificate says expired on it. Yo mama is so old… she dated George Washington! Yo mama is so old… she has an autographed Bible! Yo mama is so old… that her bus pass is in hieroglyphics! Yo mama is so old… her birth certificate is in Roman numerals. Yo mama is so old… she used to babysit Adam and Eve! Yo mama is so old… her memory is in black and white! Yo mama is so old… she was wearing a Jesus starter jacket! Yo mama is so old… she farts dust! Yo mama is so old… she knew the Great Wall of China when it was only good! Yo mama is so old… she ran track with dinosaurs. Yo mama is so old… she has a picture of Moses in her yearbook. Yo mama is so old… that when she was in school there was no history class. Yo mama is so old… her social security number is 1! Yo mama is so old… she knew the Dead Sea when it started getting sick! Yo mama is so old… she helped serve the Last Supper! Yo mama is so old… I told her to act her own age, and she died. Yo mama is so old… she knew Mr. Clean when he had a head full of hair! Yo mama is so old… I took a picture of her and it came out black and white!