Drive Thru Quotes

There are no drive-thru breakthroughs. Breakthroughs take time.

Oh my God, I sent a picture of my boobs to Jim," I moaned as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through me. "You also threw up in the emergency room parking lot, called Drew and told him you were the Donkey Punch Dick Queen and filled out a Last Will and Testament on a Burger King napkin and then asked the drive-thru worker to notarize it.

You live in a world where you can drive through the drive-thru, flop down in a chair to work all day, and spend your evening on the couch, in front of the TV, before you crawl off to your cozy bed. Even if you work hard all day, your day-to-day living can make your body soft. And that softness is a modern-day killer, the equivalent of the savanna-dweller’s lion (actually, the lion was better, since it kept people moving).

Drive-Thru McDonalds was more expensive than I thought...once you've hired the car...

It was the end of the world, but you could still hit the drive-thru on your way to oblivion.

But I’m going to need you to love me on the bus, dude. And first thing in the morning. Also, when I’m drunk and refuse to shut up about getting McNuggets from the drive-thru. When I fall asleep in the middle of that movie you paid extra to see in IMAX. When I wear the flowered robe I got at Walmart and the sweatpants I made into sweatshorts to bed. When I am blasting “More and More” by Blood Sweat & Tears at seven on a Sunday morning while cleaning the kitchen and fucking up your mom’s frittata recipe. When I bring a half dozen gross, mangled kittens home to foster for a few nights and they shit everywhere and pee on your side of the bed. When I go “grocery shopping” and come back with only a bag of Fritos and five pounds of pork tenderloin. When I’m sick and stumbling around the crib with half a roll of toilet paper shoved in each nostril. When I beg you fourteen times to read something I’ve written, then get mad when you tell me what you don’t like about it and I call you an uneducated idiot piece of shit. Lovebird city.

When I smile at you, I’m being sincere because I pity you. I pity anyone who says gimme. The world is going to be a giant disappointment for you. All you’ll ever get is the kindness of the Drive-Thru girl after growling your entitled order into my head. Gimme-gimme-gimme: the battle cry of millions of people every day. People who want.

After we go through the Starbucks drive-thru and spend approximately two hundred dollars on four cups of coffee, we head to the studio.

The Lotus Way might lead to nirvana, but it was a long trip, and when you had a lot of miles to cover, it was just natural to want some drive-thru along the road.

No one is watching. So why does it have to be beautiful? You, in pain are no closer to god than You, in the drive thru or You, checking your email or You, holding your own hand.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that food doesn’t work. Anyone who tells you that food doesn’t work is either stupid or a liar or has never had food before. You can tell them I said so. It works. Putting food on top of it works. If food did not work, if it didn’t work its slutty, gluttonous, more-is-more magic, everyone in America would be Angelina Jolie thin. No one would drive-thru. No one would sprinkles or pinkberry or any of it.

As I sailed down the road people began screaming to get away. You know, from the vomit. I realised that this vomiting caper was almost like having a super power. Maybe I could get people to do what I wanted or threaten to drown them in vomit. I could rule the world! Or, even better, I could steer my raft to McDonalds and demand a year’s supply of free cheese burgers or I’d fill the drive-thru with vomit!

No matter where you went—no matter how ancient the traditions, no matter how grand the history, no matter how awe-inspiring the landscape—there was always a market for a cheap Happy Meal. The Lotus Way might lead to nirvana, but it was a long trip, and when you had a lot of miles to cover, it was just natural to want some drive-thru along the road.

I tried explaining to Blackjack that taking a flying horse through the drive-thru would give every cop in the doughnut shop a heart attack, but he didn’t seem to get it.

Everything is a drive-thru. You just have to aim really fast

We’re a society of busy people—and there’s a multitude of fast food, drive-thru options just for our convenience.

The region is altogether valueless. After entering it, there is nothing to do but leave. -Lt. Edward Beale, Congress report on Arizona, 1858

McDonald’s Golden Arches, for example, a sign more recognizable worldwide than the Christian cross,

What’s not to love about being expertly lit and drunk at two in the afternoon? But I’m going to need you to love me on the bus, dude. And first thing in the morning. Also, when I’m drunk and refuse to shut up about getting McNuggets from the drive-thru. When I fall asleep in the middle of that movie you paid extra to see in IMAX. When I wear the flowered robe I got at Walmart and the sweatpants I made into sweatshorts to bed.

Little Amps was a hip coffee shop that roasted its own beans and attracted the kinds of people who enjoyed the inconvenience of not going through a chain drive-thru. The coffee was excellent. But the parking was stupid.

I picked a sushi spot even though I don’t love sushi, because the restaurant is really sunny and cute, and I wanted to make a good impression. Which, in hindsight, is fucking misleading, because I am 100 percent the kind of friend who wants you to pick me up so we can go to the drive thru and gossip over Big Macs in the McDonald’s parking lot. All my real friends are like, “Sushi? Table service? In daylight? I once had to watch you eat a hot dog on the bus!

i hope today is your day. the sun hits your face just right. your favorite t-shirt fits the way you like. your hair is what you have always tried to achieve. there is no line in the drive-thru to get your coffee. your skin feels dewy. and someone sends you a message that makes you smile. i hope today you feel the most right you have in a while.

Did you go to the the theatre last time you were here? 'No, it's too expensive.' 'What did you do?' 'What tourists always do in New York City. Empire State, Statue of and all the galleries. There's a million galleries.' 'Where'd you stay?' 'The first two nights, I slept in an abandoned car. A Pontiac Grand Am.' Weren't you scared?' 'Not really. It had a doorman.

Have you ever sat in a parking lot after going through the drive-thru, and ate a bagel smothered in cream cheese because you couldn’t eat inside out of fear of the judgment from people? Even though they are probably deep in conversation not even noticing you or your choice of food. But what if they do? What if they judge? What if they stare? What if? What if? What if?

NEVER been nor will I EVER be interested in being a back-burner, rebound, spare-of-the-moment, side-piece, booty-call fly-by-night, drive-thru bang & go, “friends-with-benefits” type of Woman. Yes…..I may be flawed, I may not be the best looker, I have NEVER nor do I EVER think that I am better than anyone or think that I am too good, but I AM Valuable & Worth it. So, I will NEVER beg or compete for a Friendship/Companionship/Relationship from any man nor will I ever be the Woman a man settles for or just another Woman on some guys list. SETTLING BEING THE “OTHER” WOMAN WILL NEVER BE SUITABLE FOR ME---I TO DESERVE TO BE PUT ON A PEDESTAL.....#IPromiseMe

For too long we have been the playthings of massive corporations, whose sole aim is to convert our world into a gargantuan shopping 'mall'. Pleasantry and civility are being discarded as the worthless ephemera of a bygone age; an age where men doffed their hats at ladies, and children could be counted on to mind your Jack Russell while you took a mild and bitter in the pub. The twinkly-eyed tobacconist, the ruddy-cheeked landlord and the bewhiskered teashop lady are being trampled under the mighty blandness of 'drive-thru' hamburger chains. Customers are herded in and out of such places with an alarming similarity to the way the cattle used to produce the burgers are herded to the slaughterhouse. The principal victim of this blandification is Youth, whose natural propensity to shun work, peacock around the town and aggravate the constabulary has been drummed out of them. Youth is left with a sad deficiency of joie de vivre, imagination and elegance. Instead, their lives are ruled by territorial one-upmanship based on brands of plimsoll, and Youth has become little more than a walking, barely talking advertising hoarding for global conglomerates. ... But now, a spectre is beginning to haunt the reigning vulgarioisie: the spectre of Chappism. A new breed of insurgent has begun to appear on the streets, in the taverns and in the offices of Britain: The Anarcho-Dandyist. Recognisable by his immaculate clothes, the rakish angle of his hat and his subtle rallying cry of "Good day to you sir/ madam!

I am reinforced in my belief that walking a continuous path and sticking with the white blazes is the best way for me to hike. My attitude about this is not rigidity for the sake of principle or unfeeling discipline done out of habitual compliance. More at issue is doing things in a way that enables me to sustain purpose and drive. I will do some things on this hike that will make purists cringe. But if I were to blue-blaze away a chunk of trail, or leave miles to be done “later,” then it would be tempting to pare away even more of the trail, eventually concluding that there is no purpose to it. Gumption is the most important thing for a thru-hiker to maintain. Compare rounds of golf, one played while keeping score and one in which you hit a mulligan every time you are unhappy with a shot. In the latter case, being on the golf course loses significance. Rounds that are memorable are the ones that you make count. In a broader context, all rounds of golf are of no consequence, whether score is kept or not. But you are the center of your own universe. You are free to create meaning for yourself.

there is no such thing as "magic" Daoism, "daojia" and "daojiao" had different meanings way back then, and now. The priginal term dao jia 道家was counterposed to rujia,儒家 the folks who swore by Confucius, and fajia 法家realists who (legalists), like modern day republicans equated money, weapons w political power. Daojia was the category for every one else, ie those who were neither.Confucian or Legalist. Daoism, “the way that never parted,” is a great river flowing thru all of China's history, fed by many streams. Many of the "modern" "western" people such as "sex hygiene" 房中 and other "Dao for $$$" folk (eg a multi-millionaire in Pacific Grove - 17 Mile Drive) have made fortunes by claiming to teach "Daoist Secrets", in a system that forbids taking recompense of any kind for receiving true Daoist teachings. So much more to say, the writings of the late Anna Seidel show how what we call "Dao Jiao" 道教(Dao teaching), which includes liturgy as well as inner alchemy meditation, derives from the Guweishu 古緯書, ie the ancient "wei" (parallel threads or "woof" thread), human compassion for each other and oneness with change in nature, as opposed to the "jing" 經 vertical (Confucian, political up-down) threads that support the Imperial governing power. Buddhism appears as sacred art painted on the surface of the Chinese cultural fabric, which is eventually accepted because it won the hearts of the people by praying for the deceased, something that was not a part of the original Buddhist teachings from India, but essential in China." [Saso FB Post May 4th 2015]

I love this song, can you turn it up?” I reached and turned the dial up on the Vance Joy song “Red Eye.” Adam bobbed his head to the music. At the stoplight I looked over at him. He was wearing the black beanie my brother had given him, his black Wayfarers, and the hospital gown. I laughed. He turned to me and smiled. “What?” he said. “You’re cute.” “Oh yeah? Wanna fool around?” He grinned. I was glad that Adam couldn’t see my eyes welling up behind my sunglasses. The car behind us honked. I hit the gas and my car lurched forward from the intersection. “How much time do we have?” I asked. “What? Are you serious?” “Yes, Adam, I am serious.” He was having a good day. He reached for my phone. “We have like an hour and a half before Leah freaks out.” I knew I was taking a big chance, but how could I say no to him? There was so much joy in him that day just because he got to go to the drive-thru at In-N-Out. “Okay.” I glanced over at him and flattened my lips. “You better not have a seizure on me.” “I can’t think of a better place to have a seizure. Although I can see how that wouldn’t be much fun for you.” I laughed hysterically. “Oh man, I didn’t mean literally on me; I meant on my watch.” “Well, Charlotte, I don’t have much control over that, but I’ll try. You know what helps?” “What?” “Alcohol.” “Really?” As we passed the Four Seasons he said, “Pull in here.” “This is too expensive, Adam.” “What? Are you crazy?” The energy in the car was tangible. “This may be the last time I ever go to a hotel with a girl. I’m paying. I have a ton of money. Come on, Charlotte, please?” His mood was instantly lighter than it had been in several days. “Okay.” I did a U-turn and pulled into the driveway of the hotel.

I sat in school and I read about how everything changes even in Crapalachia. I read about how the miners became machines, and the loggers became the machines and the tiny roads turned into interstates and the towns became fast food drive thru's and gas stations and the people became people to serve tourists and let the tourists laugh at their accents.

The backseat was even worse. Taco wrappers, drive-thru cups, and greasy napkins covered the floor. I dug through most of it, but the only evidence I found was evidence of tooth decay. Tyson was an eating machine. He probably turned to crime to pay for a junk food habit.

I typed the winery address into the GPS and then proceeded to pull out of the rental company driveway. I screeched and slammed on the brakes every four feet until I got out onto the street. There was going to be a learning curve. The GPS lady successfully got me over the Golden Gate, but I didn’t get to enjoy one minute of it. Paranoid that I was going to hit a pedestrian or a cyclist or launch myself off the massive bridge, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the car in front of me. Once I was out of the city, I spotted a Wendy’s and pulled off the highway. GPS lady started getting frantic. “Recalculating. Head North on DuPont for 1.3 miles.” I did a quick U-turn to get to the other side of the freeway and into the loving arms of a chocolate frosty. “Recalculating.” Shit. Shut up, lady. I was frantically hitting buttons until I was able to finally silence her. I made a right turn and then another turn immediately into the Wendy’s parking lot and into the drive-thru line. I glanced at the clock. It was three forty. I still had time. I pulled up to the speaker and shouted, “I’ll take a regular French fry and a large chocolate frosty.” Just then, I heard a very loud, abbreviated siren sound. Whoop. I looked into my rearview mirror and spotted the source. It was a police officer on a motorcycle. What’s he doing? I sat there waiting for the Wendy’s speaker to confirm my order, and then again, Whoop. “Ma’am, please pull out of the drive-thru and off to the side.” What’s going on? I quickly rolled the window all the way down, stuck my head out, and peered around until the policeman was in my view. “Are you talking to me?” To my absolute horror, he used the speaker again. “Yes, ma’am, I am talking to you. Please pull out of the drive-thru.” Holy shit, I’m being pulled over in a Wendy’s drive-thru. “Excuse me, Wendy’s people? You need to scratch that last order.” A few seconds went by and then a young man’s voice came over the speaker. “Yeah, we figured that,” he said before bursting into laughter and cutting the speaker off. The policeman was very friendly and seemed to find a little humor in the situation as well. Apparently I had made an illegal right turn at a red light just before I pulled into the parking lot. After completely and utterly humiliating me, he let me off with a warning, which was nice, but I still didn’t have a frosty. Pulling my old Chicago Cubs cap from my bag, I decided that nothing was going to get in the way of my beloved frosty. Going incognito, I made my way through the door. Apparently the cap was not enough because the Justin Timberlake–looking fellow behind the counter could not contain himself. “Hi,” I said. “Hi, what can I get you?” he said, and then he clapped his hand over his mouth, struggling to hold back a huge amount of laughter and making gagging noises in the back of his throat in the process. “Can I get an extra-large chocolate frosty please, and make it snappy.” “Do you still want the fries with that?” There was more laughter and then I heard laughter from the back as well. “No, thank you.” I paid, grabbed my cup, and hightailed it out of there.

I don’t know, but why wouldn’t she? She didn’t say she did, but she didn’t say she didn’t either, only that she aimed her negative energy at her after a bad day of work.

A red pickup truck barreled into the drive-thru, the modified exhaust announcing to the world that the driver had a micro-penis.

A colleague once asked me about community supported agriculture (CSA). When I explained how it worked—driving to the farm weekly to pick up my produce—she responded, 'Well, that’s fine for you, but what about the rest of us?' It’s funny how perception works, because in my eyes, I am 'the rest of us.

I often have to remind myself that things of substance do not come easily - and niceness comes easily. We are nice in those brief interactions with drive-thru tellers and clerks at the department store - as we should be - but we all seem to realize that niceness in this sense is only a facade, a way to avoid rudeness and unpleasant encounters. I admit that sometimes I like the facade. But there's no sacrifice in niceness, no difficulty, no striving. Niceness is manufactured, neat and perfect, predictable and uniform. Not as similar to kindness as the thesaurus would have you think. Kindness is so human that it's been mangled up by human hands, twisted into knots by those who aren't sure how to handle it yet, uneven but real.

Studies conducted by the American Psychological Association, the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse, and various major universities support the assertion that there is a direct correlation between frequent family meals and children who are less likely to use illegal drugs, drink alcohol, and be sexually promiscuous. In addition, these children usually have better success in school, higher self-esteem, fewer problems with depression, and a lower incidence of obesity.

This book is a chronicle of how my family came to be where we are and what we learned along the way as well as a map to guide you on your own journey. I’ll even tell you the moral of the story upfront (the proverbial string tied to the gate of the labyrinth): You have more control over the food you eat than you think.

We didn’t go from shopping weekly for everything we need at the grocery store to dealing directly with farms overnight. Think about it this way: every small step helps.

Our regular family dinners had one of the largest impacts on me and my attitude toward food, not just the social benefits of the family meal, but having food that was cooked at home, by my very busy mother.

One of the many downsides of our fast food culture is that food is no longer a revered cultural icon. This is probably one of the most detrimental aspects of our diet: the myriad of fast food restaurants are cultural icons and Sunday dinner with the family is not.

I understand that many people do not see how they can accommodate homemade, nutritious, sit-down dinners every night, or even most nights. We live in a culture of busy. It’s certainly not a misperception that you are busy. You are. The question is, in this time of increasingly innovative and amazing conveniences, why do we remain busier than any generation before us?

There was some old guy catcallin' from the drive-thru. Called me sweetcheeks." "Awww," she says. "Well, that's kind of flattering if you think about it." "Mama, come on. No, that's gross.

New Jersey Haiku "Ehh, cuz I drive thru a bridge or tunnel to NY don't make me stupid.

We are as busy as the next family, and we made it work. You can, too. As a friend of mine used to say, 'Life is about choices.' With every meal you consume, you make a choice, and that choice has consequences. If you choose to deal directly with a farmer, the food you put on your table could be sustaining the environment, fostering better health for you and your family, or working to preserve a way of life—the small family farm—that is endangered by the industrial food system. The resources are there for you, but you need to take the initiative and the responsibility.

I’m opening a restaurant called “To Go.” You’d like to go to To Go, but would you believe it, we won’t have a drive-thru or carryout option. Or bathrooms.

They went to Shimmies again, but this time Johnny pulled into the long line at the drive thru, and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. She was too tired for drama, and Shimmies was full of teen angst. Maggie took one look at the menu board and knew what she wanted. She always got the same thing. Johnny was still reading the menu, a frown of disbelief between his brows. She guessed that the prices were a tad bit higher than he was used to. Oh well, she’d warned him, hadn’t she? “Do you need me to buy?” She asked softly. Johnny shot her a look that would have caused her to shrivel up and die had she not grown a rather thick skin over the years. Still, she cringed a little bit. He clearly took her offer as an insult. “I’ve got plenty of money... but it had better be a darn good burger. The last burger I ate cost fifteen cents.” “Fifteen?” Maggie squeaked. Johnny tossed his heads toward the window at the gas station they could see across the road. The fuel prices were displayed on a large marquee. “A gallon of gas used to cost me a quarter. I can’t believe people are still driving cars at these prices.” He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. “You already know what you want?” He changed the subject abruptly. “I always get the same thing.” “Not too adventurous, huh? “Life is disappointing enough without having to take chances on your food. I always go with the sure thing

You'll have to help me undress, you know, and I don't think Ambrose can handle it. The sight of my glorious naked body takes some getting used to.” Ambrose, Bailey and Fern were at Hannah Lake. It had been a spontaneous trip, prompted by the heat and the fact that Fern and Ambrose both had the day (and night) off. They'd hit a drive-thru for food and drinks, but they hadn’t gone back home to get their suits. “You won't be naked, Bailey. Stop. You're scaring Ambrose.” Fern winked at Ambrose and said, “You will have to help me get him in the water, Ambrose. At that point I can hold him under all by myself.

If the most exercise you have ever done in your life is to stretch your arm out to grab your bag of food from the drive-thru window, you cannot just hop on a treadmill and “go”.

replace the motherboard,” he said, handing the old one to me.  “Go look through that junk pile of computer parts that’s sitting in the corner.” I did as he asked. By the time I found a match, Brandon had my hard drive connected to another computer. “Good news is, the hard drive is fine,” he said.  “The bad news is, without that

The rocks of Pennsylvania ranged from smaller than a golf ball to larger than a picnic basket. Some were half buried and immovable toe-stubbers, others shifted dangerously underfoot. They were universally sharp-edged and largely unavoidable. Or at least, bypassing any given one just meant stepping and stumbling over others. The rocks of Pennsylvania provided a level of obstacle heretofore unseen on trail. Ruts and potholes threatened to snap ankles, piercing points stabbed into trail-sore feet and larger stones teetered unexpectedly. More than brute strength or stamina, hiking over these rocks required fine-motor control, balance and mental acuity. Each and every foot placement required blink-quick consideration and an exacting precision that was no less fatiguing than hiking up mountains all day long. The rocks of Pennsylvania weren’t simply physically demanding and mentally taxing. They were emotionally challenging as well. After more than a thousand miles, thru-hikers had grown accustomed to moving along at certain rates of speed. Over rocks, those rates became unrealistic. For many, readjusting to this slower pace was an infuriating experience, much like driving a shiny new Corvette round and round a parking lot littered with speed bumps.

I grab some coffee at one of the drive thru places; get to juggle it the whole way. The Datsun was made in an age when cup holders were what you did when you squeezed your knees together.

I ache for the body of Christ in our generation to learn how to tarry before God and expectantly wait for Him to speak. I’m desperate to learn it for myself. If we do, what revelation we would receive! We cannot have a drive-thru relationship with God and expect to behold His glory. Like the children of Israel, much of the body of Christ still stands back and watches those they consider truly anointed draw near to God’s glory. Dear One, you are anointed! Never settle for a secondhand relationship. Never be satisfied with distant glory.

Walt: Do you miss the good old days? Gracie: How old? Walt: When we were old enough to be good. Gracie: We were never that old, Wally. Or that young.

When people in other parts of the world hear the term “food fast,” they envision a time of spiritual and physical cleansing. I hear “food fast” and I envision a drive-thru.

Can we go through a drive thru? I got the munchies,” Nikolai broke into the tense silence. “I’m gonna kill you!” Jones said as he reached into the back seat, hands aimed for Greed’s neck.

God seems far away and French fries are right around the corner at the drive-thru.

The front hall doubled as an art gallery. The exhibition was a series of modern interpretations of the Virgin of Guadalupe. The Virgin as seamstress. The Virgin wearing boxing gloves. The Virgin working the drive-thru window at McDonald’s.

the BTK Killer (which to me sounds more like something you order from a drive-thru window).

The South: Three-wheeled Piggly Wiggly shopping carts, grease-caked engine blocks, baby strollers with shredded black hoods, Soviet rocket parts, human skulls on spikes and orange-eyed Rottweilers on heavy chains breathing fire...

Self-sabotage is committing to a healthier diet and finding yourself pulling up to the drive-thru a few hours later.

It’s a known fact that you get fucked at the drive-thru.

In Jupiter, Florida, a man tossed a live alligator into a Wendy's drive- thru window after the server handed over his drink.

On passing the woman for the third time, I stop to ask how it was that we continued to meet like that. She and her husband are thru-hiking the trail together, and they have their car with them. On most days, one will drop the other off at the south end of the trail to hike north. The driver then drives to a point where a road crosses at the north end of the trail, parks the car, and hikes south. They meet at midday on the trail. The northbound hiker will reach the car at the end of the day, and drive back to the south end of the section to retrieve the partner. Having the car offers them many options; they can camp, sleep in the car, or drive to a nearby town. They carry little more than a water bottle and lunch.

He drove a gray Honda CR-V and ate six Wendy’s Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers from the Drive-Thru Value Menu. He listened to a Spotify playlist of Ed Sheeran, Death Cab for Cutie, and Coldplay while driving exactly the speed limit with his fedora on the dashboard, hooked atop a plastic hat rack he’d purchased for $9.99 on Amazon.

No. This is not a step above what I’m used to. I find this modern existence to be dull at the best of times, uninspiring at the worst.” “Excuse me?” Michael says in disbelief. “This modern world you live in. Everything handed to you and you do nothing overly hard to get it. You don’t know what it’s like to truly live until you need to focus all of your daily energies on avoiding death. You swing through a drive-thru for your evening meal while I go out and kill my food every day. You don’t know how safe you are until you have to walk a daily path where at any moment, a deadly snake can strike at your ankle. Sure, you have your fast cars, loud music, and expensive meals at fancy restaurants, but you know what I think about all of that?” Michael just shakes his head, his mouth hanging slightly open. “I find it boring,” Zach says. “Unfulfilling. A plastic attempt to take life by the horns.

I spun around at the door. “Yes?” “Word of advice,” he said. “Gem had nothing to do with this. Not to mention, Alastair contributes generously to the police department every year.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Wes cracked his knuckles, then winced and shook out his hand. “Alastair Gem is not a man you want to offend.” Chapter 9 “Iexpect you’ll fill me in,” Jimmy said as I climbed back into the car. “Dare I suggest it be over a bucket of chicken?” I swerved into the left lane and put on my blinker for The Chicken Hut, a fried food joint near the station. We crawled through the drive thru line and put in our orders. A king-sized pail for Jimmy, a queen for me. A few minutes later, the tantalizing smell of fried chicken was working its way into the car’s upholstery. Jimmy had shiny fingers by the time we returned to the station parking lot. He mopped his chin with a napkin. “I’m ready to hear the details whenever you’re done with that wing.” I sighed, tossing the wing back into the bucket. I wasn’t all that hungry. It was hard to care much about food when a case consumed me. “My sister brought Wes home last night,” I said. “Like, on a date. Wes Remington—the manager of Rubies—was at my house. Rubies is Alastair Gem’s latest venture.” “No kidding? That’s neat.” “What’s neat?” “Gem is like the Tony Stark of the Twin Cities. His latest restaurant has the best food I’ve ever tasted—it set me back a year into retirement to eat there, though. Now I hear he’s got an Emerald hotel coming soon that’s gonna cost two grand a pop for a night. That man is rich, powerful, and handsome. The rest of us don’t stand a chance.” “I beg to differ,” I said. “Anyone who is that rich, handsome, and powerful has secrets to hide.” Jimmy shrugged. “Probably. Still doesn’t mean I wouldn’t date him, and I’m a happily married straight man.” “As it turns out, Wes doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder. He says he was upstairs working, but we don’t have anyone who can confirm it.” “Do you like him for Jane Doe’s murder?” I licked my fingers. “It’s too early to tell. My head says yes. He’s new to town and had easy access to the victim. But I don’t have any clue as to a motive. Why would he grab her specifically?” “We’re looking for a serial killer. Is there any saying why they do what they do?” “Maybe not,” I agreed. “But my gut’s telling me Wes isn’t our guy. He seemed...

Now git goin thru that screen door before I use it as a weapon. You're just a witless fool. That's what you are, a fool, Mae Mae said, shaking her head as if she had just discovered truth. An' put a log on that fire for me on your way out. Make yourself useful for something but misery. Cause you messed with the wrong MaMae. Look in my eyes. Philip, in all of his dejection and correction, had to look with respect. Yes, maam, he said sheepishly looking up from from the pine floor into her narrow, serious eyes. See I see right thru ya, she said, noddin her chin and holding her eyes like fire into his soul. An' the motives of your heart are stinkin up the place. I don't want the kids to smell it when they wake up from their naps. I don't know what's wrong with your generation. Missing men. No fathers. It disgusts me. At least in my time, women got some respect an alimony. An my daughter's got six kids and broke. But yours, they just gone missing. Hiding up in the woods with some women. Or abscounding to your cousin Satchie's trailer. Not supportin' them kids. Goin to jail. Servin their selves instead of the One who made 'em. It ain't no man problem, it's a sin probl'm. An people my age just sick that none of yall, no not one, know the capital letters of RESPONSIBILITY. Now take your lies and country jeans an drive down the gravel cause you ain't welcome here no more. The screen is locked, Ma Mae shouted as Philip walked blankly out the door.

Clean eating—whether it is called that or not—is perhaps best seen as a dysfunctional response to a still more dysfunctional food supply: a dream of purity in a toxic world,” writes Bee Wilson in a dissection of wellness culture in The Guardian.

What was it like before?” Sophia asked Enoch a few minutes later, after they had all got drinks at the drive-thru. The autopilot was back in effect and they were heading toward the relatively bright lights of Moab, still a couple of miles distant. She was thinking about the woman reading the book in the information center. About the whole idea of information centers. About information. “Depends on how far back you want to go,” Enoch pointed out. “Just saying that for everyone else in this car the post-Moab world is basically all we’ve ever known. Where people can’t even agree that this town exists.” “What was it like when people agreed on facts, you mean?” Enoch asked. He seemed a little amused by the question. Not in a condescending way. More charmed. “Yeah. Because they did, right? Walter Cronkite and all that?” Enoch pondered it for a bit. “I would say that the ability of people to agree on matters of fact not immediately visible—states of affairs removed from them in space and time—ramped up from a baseline of approximately zero to a pretty high level around the time of the scientific revolution and all that, and stayed there and became more globally distributed up through the Cronkite era, and then dropped to zero incredibly quickly when the Internet came along. And I think that the main thing it conferred on people was social mobility, so that if you were a smart kid growing up on a farm in Kansas or a slum in India you had a chance to do something interesting with your life. Before it—before that three-hundred-year run when there was a way for people to agree on facts—we had kings and warlords and rigid social hierarchy. During it, a lot of brainpower got unlocked and things got a lot better materially. A lot better. Now we’re back in a situation where the people who have the power and the money can get what they want by dictating what the mass of people ought to believe.

Calvin stopped looking at the girl and he put on imaginary blinders. The girl was creeping him out, and he just couldn’t adjust to the queer vibe coming off of this little onlooker. Even with a meal and guidance out of this black hole to come, Calvin stressed fearfully. He thought of Lot’s wife, but looked again anyway. His head moved as if his chin was being tilted in that direction by invisible fingers.

No, what little inspiration I have in life comes not from any sense of racial pride. It stems from the same age-old yearning that has produced great presidents and great pretenders, birthed captains of industry and captains of football; that Oedipal yen that makes men do all sorts of shit we’d rather not do, like try out for basketball and fistfight the kid next door because in this family we don’t start shit but we damn sure finish it. I speak only of that most basic of needs, the child’s need to please the father. Many fathers foster that need in their children through a wanton manipulation that starts in infancy. They dote on the kids with airplane spins, ice cream cones on cold days, and weekend custody trips to the Salton Sea and the science museum. The incessant magic tricks that produced dollar pieces out of thin air and the open-house mind games that made you think that the view from the second-floor Tudor-style miracle in the hills, if not the world, would soon be yours are designed to fool us into believing that without daddies and the fatherly guidance they provide, the rest of our lives will be futile Mickey Mouseless I-told-ya-so existences. But later in adolescence, after one too many accidental driveway basketball elbows, drunken midnight slaps to the upside of our heads, puffs of crystal meth exhaled in our faces, jalapeño peppers snapped in half and ground into our lips for saying “fuck” when you were only trying to be like Daddy, you come to realize that the frozen niceties and trips to the drive-thru car wash were bait-and-switch parenting. Ploys and cover-ups for their reduced sex drives, stagnant take-home pay, and their own inabilities to live up to their father’s expectations. The Oedipal yen to please Father is so powerful that it holds sway even in a neighborhood like mine, where fatherhood for the most part happens in absentia, yet nevertheless the kids sit dutifully by the window at night waiting for Daddy to come home. Of course, my problem was that Daddy was always home.

I told myself Tyson was going to pick up their laptops, but half a mile later they joined the drive-thru line at an In-N-Out Burger. Tyson. Eating was constant. Maybe he needed sustenance before they retrieved the laptops.

Self-Discovery in San Francisco CA | Suzanne Fensin If This looks like what's Driving You, Then you're THE New Human And it slow Has come back To Step Up! The easiest to know your life purpose is thru your journey of self discovery. supported your birthname that holds distinctive sacred codes that unlock your destiny, your Soul Blueprint holds all the answers to what your challenges area unit and also the gifts they reveal, as well as what your skills and gifts area unit at a deeper level, and the way to activate them to make your a lot of fulfilling life. Life Purpose is complicated. throughout my self discovery journey, I uncovered hidden ways and forks within the road. there have been hills, mountains, valleys and shadowy places which will be scary to travel through. i finished and began, unsure if I had the strength to urge through it all. however I did it! and that i wish to share my method with you to jumpstart your magnificence that you’ve been concealing. Soul Codes Blueprint in San Jose CA This is a 12-week personal 1:1 mentoring program ideally delivered via ZOOM. ZOOM recordings of sessions are provided, upon request. Email support is supplied with every step of this method. Here’s what you receive with this distinctive program L – Learning Your distinctive skills, goals, and challenges with Soul Blueprint Reading. this is often a 1-hour, birthname solely analysis that offers you the subsequent information: • Birthname analysis • Your most fulfilling soul expression • Your Soul Destiny for this period of time • Karmic lessons, skills and gifts you were born with, and people you receive later in life. • Emailed Zoom recording of the session, upon request • Special discount rating on future mentoring that helps to activate your blueprint on a deeper level O - OMG you're Amazing! Understanding the scope of your soul mission and the way your skills, goals, and challenges work along to make your greatest purpose. acceptive the sweetness of the journey and speech communication affirmative to following step. this is often AN expanded 2-hour Soul Blueprint reading that offers you all of what you receive within the 1-hour reading, and the following: • Up to two extra names analysis • subject for private Years, Months & Cycles • wherever area unit you within the Ascension method • what's your Soul kind V - Valor Having the spirit to roll up your sleeves and acquire into uncovering, understanding, and material possession go of doubts, beliefs, and learning that show up as shadow aspects, and align together with your higher purpose. caring yourself through the method, permitting a lot of lightweight into your being. during this step you'll receive: • Intuitive work to support you in understanding what you discover on a soul level, and to help in your self-nurturing • Soul Blueprint Upgrade (working together with your etheric team to clear attachments, enhance your gift and talent codes, unleash doubt & worry • Flower Essence Remedy suggestions to help in clearing shadow aspects E - Ease, Excitement, And Energize The seeds of management you have got planted area unit currently development. you're claiming your truth and sharing your authentic magnificence (by visioning and actioning) with a reworking world that reflects and honors your journey. you'll receive the subsequent with this step: • corroborative work with life exercises to observe your new brilliance • Celebration exercises to stay you moving forward on your journey of success with grace. Contact Suzanne With Questions #SelfDiscoveryinSanFranciscoCA Email# suzannefensin@gmail.com

no idea that the very last fries just out of reach at the bottom of a paper bag are linked to Thomas Jefferson,

the story of fast food itself also begins with White Castle, in Wichita, Kansas.

If you head south by southeast far enough, you might find yourself hungry for a Burger King hoagie made of boerewors, the classic South African sausage.

Any asshole can fall in love on a private beach in a tropical locale, surrounded by lush flora and adorable fauna, shining suns and chirping birds. Give me ten uninterrupted minutes without some ding-dong demanding something or subtweeting me or making me do work and I could fall in love with my worst fucking enemy. Seriously. What’s not to love about being expertly lit and drunk at two in the afternoon? But I’m going to need you to love me on the bus, dude. And first thing in the morning. Also, when I’m drunk and refuse to shut up about getting McNuggets from the drive-thru. When I fall asleep in the middle of that movie you paid extra to see in IMAX. When I wear the flowered robe I got at Walmart and the sweatpants I made into sweatshorts to bed. When I am blasting “More and More” by Blood Sweat & Tears at seven on a Sunday morning while cleaning the kitchen and fucking up your mom’s frittata recipe. When I bring a half dozen gross, mangled kittens home to foster for a few nights and they shit everywhere and pee on your side of the bed. When I go “grocery shopping” and come back with only a bag of Fritos and five pounds of pork tenderloin. When I’m sick and stumbling around the crib with half a roll of toilet paper shoved in each nostril. When I beg you fourteen times to read something I’ve written, then get mad when you tell me what you don’t like about it and I call you an uneducated idiot piece of shit. Lovebird city.

Simply beautiful! David Brazzeal takes the hospitality traditions of the French and the Brazilians and stirs in spiritual disciplines and alternative worship practices for a book on prayer unlike anything you’ve read before. He reminds us that time with God is a rich and delicious banquet that we share together, and not a drive-thru fast food meal we eat alone. Nourishing and indulgent.

TWO YEARS AGO I FOUND AN IMAGE OF A KID WITH HER HANDS COVERING HER FACE. A SEATBELT REACHED ACROSS HER TORSO, RIDING UP HER NECK AND A MOP OF BLONDE HAIR STAYED SWEPT, FOR THE MOMENT, BEHIND HER EARS. HER EYES SEEMED CLEAR AND CALM BUT NOT BLANK, THE ROAD BEHIND HER SEEMED THE SAME, I PUT MYSELF IN HER SEAT THEN I PLAYED IT ALL OUT IN MY HEAD. THE CLAUSTROPHOBIA HITS AS THE SEATBELT TIGHTENS, PREVENTING ME FROM EVEN LEANING FORWARD IN MY SEAT, THE PRESSING ON INTERNAL ORGANS. I LEAN BACK AND FORWARD TO RELEASE IT, THEN BACKWARDS AND FORWARD AGAIN. THERE IT IS I GOT FREE. HOW MUCH OF MY LIFE HAS HAPPENED INSIDE OF A CAR? I WONDER IF THE ODDS ARE THAT I'LL DIE IN ONE, KNOCK ON WOOD-GRAIN. SHOULDN'T SPEAK LIKE THAT. WE LIVE IN CARS IN SOME CITIES, COMMUTING ACROSS SPACE EITHER FOR OUR LIVELIHOOD, OR DEVOURING FOSSIL FUELS FOR JOY. IT'S CLOSE TO AS MUCH TIME AS WE SPEND IN OUR BEDS, MORE FOR SOME. THE FIRST TIME I DID SHROOMS, MY MANAGER HAD TO COME RESCUE ME FROM CALTECH'S 'TRIP DAY. AS I GOT INTO HER CAR, I SWEAR TO GOD THE ALUMINUM CENTER CONSOLE IN HER PORSCHE TRUCK LOOKED LIKE IT WAS BREATHING, LIKE THE THROAT OF SOMETHING. ON THE FREEWAY, LEAVING PASADENA, WE SPOKE AND I LOOKED AWAY, OUTSIDE, AT THE WHEELS AND TIRES OF CARS DOING THAT OPTICAL ILLUSION THING THEY DO WHERE IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE SPINNING BACKWARDS, WHICH, ACCORDING TO GOOGLE, HAPPENS BECAUSE OUR BRAINS ARE ASSUMING SOMETHING COMPLETELY WRONG AND SHOWING IT TO US. STARING, I WAS TRANSFIXED BY ALL THE INDICATOR LIGHTS OSCILLATING AND THROBBING AGAINST THE WIND. WE DROVE THRU DOWNTOWN LA HEADED WEST, FLYING ON THE SAME FREEWAYS I USED TO RUN OUTTA GAS ON. WELCOMED IN BY THE PERENNIAL CREATURES, IMPERIAL PALM TREES AND CLIMBING VINES LIVING THEIR LIVES OUT JUST OFF THE SHOULDER. THE FEELING OF FAMILIAR ENHANCED, ON THE 10. I USED TO RIDE AROUND IN MY SINEWY CROSSOVER SUV, SMOKE AND LISTEN TO ROUGH MIXES OF MY OLD SHIT BEFORE IT CAME OUT, OR WHATEVER SOMEONE WANTED TO PLAY WHEN THEY HOOKED UP THEIR IPHONE TO THE AUX CORD A FEW YEARS AND A FEW DAILY-DRIVERS LATER I'M NOT DRIVING MUCH ANYMORE, IT'S BEEN A YEAR SINCE I MOVED TO LONDON, AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS, AND THERE'S NO PRACTICAL REASON TO DRIVE IN THIS CITY. I ORDERED A GT3 RS AND IT'LL KEEP LOW MILES OUT HERE BUT I GUESS IT'S GOOD TO HAVE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY :) RAF SIMONS ONCE TOLD ME IT WAS CLICHE, MY WHOLE CAR OBSESSION MAYBE IT LINKS TO A DEEP SUBCONSCIOUS STRAIGHT BOY FANTASY. CONSCIOUSLY THOUGH, I DON'T WANT STRAIGHT A LITTLE BENT IS GOOD. I FOUND IT ROMANTIC, SOMETIMES, EDITING THIS PROJECT. THE WHOLE TIME I FELT AS THOUGH I WAS IN THE PRESENCE OF A $16M MCLAREN F1 ARMED WITH A DISPOSABLE CAMERA. MY MEMORIES ARE IN THESE PAGES, PLACES CLOSEBY AND LONG ASS-NUMBING FLIGHTS AWAY. CRUISING THE SUBURBS OF TOKYO IN RWB PORSCHES. THROWING PARTIES AROUND ENGLAND AND MOBBING FREEWAYS IN FOUR PROJECT M3S THAT I BUILT WITH SOME FRIENDS. GOING TO MISSISSIPPI AND PLAYING IN THE MUD WITH AMPHIBIOUS QUADS. STREET-CASTING MODELS AT A RANDOM KUNG FU DOJO OUT IN SENEGAL. COMMISSIONING LIFE-SIZE TOY BOXES FOR THE FUCK OF IT SHOOTING A MUSIC VIDEO FOR FUN WITH TYRONE LEBON, THE GENIUS GIANT. TAKING A BREAK-SLASH-RECONNAISSANCE MISSION TO TULUM, MEXICO, ENJOYING SOME STAR VISIBILITY FOR A CHANGE. RECORDING IN TOKYO, NYC, MIAMI, LA, LONDON, PARIS. STOPPING IN BERLIN TO WITNESS BERGHAIN FOR MYSELF, TRADING JEWELS AND SOAKING IN PARABLES WITH THE MANY-HEADED BRANDON AKA BASEDGOD IN CONVERSATION, I WROTE A STORY IN THE MIDDLE-IT'S CALLED 'GODSPEED', IT'S BASICALLY A REIMAGINED PART OF MY BOYHOOD. BOYS DO CRY, BUT I DON'T THINK I SHED A TEAR FOR A GOOD CHUNK OF MY TEENAGE YEARS. IT'S SURPRISINGLY MY FAVORITE PART OF LIFE SO FAR. SURPRISING, TO ME, BECAUSE THE CURRENT PHASE IS WHAT I WAS ASKING THE COSMOS FOR WHEN I WAS A KID. MAYBE THAT PART HAD IT'S ROUGH STRETCHES TOO, BUT IN MY REARVIEW MIRROR IT'S GETTING SMALL ENOUGH TO CONVINCE MYSELF IT WAS ALL GOOD. AND REALLY THOUGH... IT'S STILL ALL GOOD.