Who needs a farm when you've got Golden Corral?

It was one of those days, my friends. I was tired. I was pissy. I had a veritable buttload of things to do that I hadn't even touched. And worst of all...I was hungry. If anyone knows me, they should know that I like food (well, good food, anyway). But seeing as I was too lazy and irritable to drive to a decent city, I'd have to find some low-grade cattle feed in my boring ass town. So after a bit of thinking, I bite the bullet and say to myself, "Fuck it, I'll just fill up on veggies at Golden Corral." And as I'm driving there, I suddenly remembered the type of folk who dine at such lovely establishments. And a wide grin creeps across my face. I'm in for some cheap laughs, and nobody loves a cheap laugh more than I!

As I'm about to turn the corner into the parking lot, I wonder if people are busy shopping at nearby Belk department store, as it looks very full. When I drive a little closer, however, I can see that the cars are for Golden Corral! No shit! You'd think I was at a Wal-Mart! And most of these vehicles are of the pick-up truck/minivan/SUV variety. I park my car (far away, of course), and chuckle my way past the McCain/Palin-stickered atrocities.

Now, I go up to the counter to pay for my meal. The server looked like she suffered through 8 generations of inbreeding. No shit. I thought she was going to start drooling when she looked at me with her dead eyes and asked in a slow, Southern drawl, "Yew want lunch or dinner?" Me: "I'll have lunch, please." "Yew wanna drank?" "Umm...Dr. Pepper." And then she told me my total, I gave her the money, and she gave me my receipt, her expression not changing whatsoever. It was not unlike this fellow:





So...after that pleasant exchange of words, I grab my plate and get my food. I swear, I must have been the only person in the whole place that didn't waddle. After I get my salad, I notice a large, angry woman looking derisively at the chicken, then asking the cook which one is a breast, when it's clear that there are only thighs and legs. At that point, she marches to a manager and bellows, "Where are the chicken breasts? You people used to make chicken breasts for me!" Yeah, lady. This huge place is going to interrupt smooth flow of business just for your fat ass. I almost wanted to say, "If you want chicken breast, take your fat, entitled ass home and cook it yourself!" But no...I wanted to thoroughly enjoy this experience. I sure do love seeing large, middle-aged women taking a break from their quilting and scrapbooking to eat bland, substandard food from a can.

Next, when I go up to get some more low-quality food, it takes me a little longer than usual, because I have to wait for the tubbs to get the fuck out of the way. Seriously. It's as if you're not allowed to talk about how you came to pick the meatloaf and lima beans unless you're standing in the way. FUCKING MOVE!!! The seniors at the table across from me can talk about their children on probation at their table, why can't you?

After topping my meal off with ice cream that is worse than Breyer's (yes, it's possible), I go to leave and the line is literally out the door of people who are about to have dinner! Breeders and seniors and bubbas, oh my! Thank hell I came early, or I'd really be pissed!

Yeah, Golden Corral is a moo cow paradise, and the food will make your stomach sink into the pits of oblivion, but it was worth it. Hey, whenever you're feeling bad about yourself, have lunch here! You will feel like a new person!