Funeral Ode to Fast Food
by Emperor Robert Anton Winston Wilson Norton Smith the 23rd
Translated into English from the Latin from the Gothic from the Celt from the Sumerian from the Esperanto from the English
by Ourobougoth Worminus

"We have fought with our utensils. I was young when, through the days, in the eating of Oreos we made torrents of milk flow, to gorge the ravenous beast of prey and our yellow-livered appetites. There resounded the hard cookie upon the lofty glasses of our forefathers. The whole mess was one wound. The crow waded in the milk of the spill. When we had numbered twenty cookies, we lifted our glass on high, and everywhere spread our puke. Eight cookies we had already overcome in the morn, before the time of breakfast; then plentifully we feasted on Eggos in that slaughter. The warm stream of oatmeal ran into a bowl. The spoon fell before us. When we steered our forks to put to the mouth the bacon, we sent the meal to the hall of Odin. Then did the acid reflux bite. The juices were all one wound. The earth was dyed white with the milky stream. The spoons rung upon the bowl of oatmeal, and drank the milk did we in twain. None fled on that day, till among his meal seafood came. Than us no braver kid cleaved the seas with shrimps; a cheerful heart did we ever bring to the table. Then the host threw away their napkins, when the uplifted spoon flew at the breast of heroes. The lips tasted the homemade fries; greasy was the fork in battle, until eggs in the pan were scrambled. From the heads of chefs the warm sweat streamed down their foreheads. The crows around the breakfast banquet had an ample prey. It were difficult to single out one among so many eating. At the rising of the sun I beheld the forks piercing the bodies of fries, and the straws blowing forth their sugary fruit juices. Loud roared the kids in the amusement park at the McDo. The virgin long bewailed the breakfast repast of that morning.

When Ronald McDonald was slain, for him mourned all the cordon bleu of heaven "as lamenting a benefactor who had so liberally supplied them with prey;" for boldly, as he adds "in the strife of cutleries did the breaker of appetite throw the happy meal of noon. What is more certain to the brave man than fat, though amidst the storm of fries he stands always ready to oppose it? He only regrets this life who hath never known distress. The timorous man allures the devouring of chicken nuggets to the cup of honey dip. The coward, wherever he eats, is useless to himself. This I esteem honorable, that the youth should advance to the dinner table fairly matched one against another; nor man retreat from man. Long was this the hunger's highest glory. He who aspires to the love of virgins, ought always to be foremost in the roar of dishes being cleaned. It appears to me, of truth, that we are led by the Fats. Seldom can any overcome the appointment of chips. Little did I foresee that McDo was to have my life in his hands, in that day when fainting I concealed my hunger, and pushed forth my fork into the waves of ketchup; after we had spread a repast for the beasts of prey throughout the Scottish bays. But this makes me always rejoice, that in the halls of our father Ronald [or Harvey] I know there are seats prepared, where, in a short time, we shall be drinking coca cola out of hollow straws of pretty colors. In the house of the mighty Colonel Sanders, no brave man laments vegetables. I come not with the voice of despair to Fast food's hall. How eagerly do all the sons of the American Empire now rush to fast food stands, did they know the distress of their father, whom a multitude of enormous pizza tear! I have given to my children a mother who hath filled their hearts with valor and their pockets with loose change. I am fast approaching to this meal’s end. A cruel burp awaits me from the soft drink's gas. A worm dwells in the midst of my burger. I hope that the forks of some of my sons shall yet be stained with the ketchup of Wendy. The valiant youths will mix mustard with relish and will not sit in peace. Fifty and one times have I reared the standard at the table. In my youth I learned to dip the niggets in sauce: my hope was then that no fatty among men would be more renowned than me. The hostess of Weight Watchers will now soon call me; I must not mourn my diet. Now I end my meal. The hostesses invite me away; they whom Omega Three has sent to me from his hall. I will sit upon a lofty seat, and drink fresh vegetable juices joyfully with the hostesses of death. The hours of my pigging out are run out. I will be hungry when I diet."
 
 

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