You’d think girls would be lining up just for a chance to have sex with me. You’d think they’d all wanna buy a ticket for the ride of their lives: me. But the truth is, I haven’t seen my penis in decades. It most likely has a thick layer of dust covering it, a few rust spots, and smells like chlorine. What’s the reason for this? Well, I have a deep, dark secret, which I am about to reveal to you.
I don’t spend my weekends hanging out with hordes of other guys who flock to me in hopes of my great presence rubbing off on them and making them cooler, or girls who flock to me in hopes that I’ll rub off on them, period. No, instead I spend my weekends, my weekdays, and every other day possible packed into my local neighborhood Applebee’s enjoying the succulent tastes that the sirloin steak, chicken fried chicken, and the root toot tootin’ spinach and artichoke dip offer me.
No one else can offer me this satisfaction. Nothing else in the world. I could do just the right amount of every good drug known to man and then have sex with the most beautiful girl in the world, but it would not even compare to the first bite of Applebee’s Teriyaki Steak & Shrimp Skewers. Applebee’s is like a drug. Applebee’s is like sex. But better.
Instead of delving my penis into the dark, scary reaches of a
vagina, my penis is delving into Applebee’s crunchy onion wings and
creamed spinach sides. It’s much more enjoyable, and the end result
is the same…if you know what I mean.
When I get horny, I don’t masturbate, I don’t find the nearest available woman to grab furiously and just rape the fuck out of, I don’t suppress my sperm for God, no! I go to Applebee’s and I motherfucking stuff a plateful of Honey BBQ Baby Backs into my throat until I’m screaming for air and crying for Sweet Mama Barack Obama to hold me, only stopping my desperate plea for help and breath to slide the cole slaw and fries doused with mustard down my piehole. And when I’m crying over the toilet and asking Jesus, God and all the angels to just fucking make me stop hurting, they answer back by shoving Applebee’s Quesadilla Burger down my food-trap until I’m begging for a Parmesan Tilapia just so I can kinda take a break, but no! God has a plan for me and that is to shove Apple Walnut Chicken Salad after Apple Walnut Chicken Salad down my God-fearin’ throat until I’m crying blood. The Applebee’s menu is like Heaven and I’m just a sinner happy to be there.
Sometimes I ask God why he doesn’t eat Applebee’s food himself. But then before I know it, God’s got a gun to my throat and suddenly I don’t have any more questions. With a gun to my throat, tears in my eyes, and blood in my stool, God fills my mouth to the brim with the Chocolate Raspberry Layer Cake and Creamed Spinach Seasonal Vegetables, and I swear right at that moment I know the meaning of life.
Seriously, have you tried their new Alfredo Fettuccine yet? It’ll make you
squirt out babies. Don’t worry, you don’t have to take care of the baby you
squirt out. You can just throw it out at one of Applebee’s two convenient
garbage cans located throughout the employee’s area. Or you can raise the baby
and call it by its name, the Chicken Fingers Platter. It loves you. Do you love
it?
I’m torn between all my appetizer friends, the entrees, and all the lovely desserts. They all want more of me, and trust me, I want more of them, but a guy can only eat so much. Or so I think. I test that each and every time I walk through Applebee’s sacred walls and holy floors. I usually hang out with the 100% Angus Bacon Cheeseburger on Tuesday nights, but then look who shows up, talking about how I told them I’d eat THEM tonight: the Applebee’s Riblets. I’ll eat you tomorrow, I say. I promise.
It sucks, in a way, having so many friends. But when I’m biting through the most phenomenal invention known to man, Applebee’s Boneless Buffalo Wings, I know there is a God and I wouldn’t have life any other way. When I’m shitting blood later, I second-guess the God thing, but then God himself comes along and before I know it I have a mouthful of Cheddar-Jack Mac & Cheese with Chicken, and tears are flowing out of my eyes into my Onion Soup au Gratin. Then God makes me eat my shit because “it has some good Applebee’s in it.”
If Applebee’s doesn’t get your creative juices flowing, and all your other juices flowing heavily, then I honestly don’t know what will. I mean, I really don’t think it’s possible not to reach nirvana and Utopia by biting into the Hand-Battered Fish and Chips Applebee’s serves up so graciously and selflessly. These words are exploding out of me in a sublime burst of pure, pure joy. I can barely tell you how good their food is without exploding onto the page. My eyes start watering and my stomach starts hurting. It’s either my adoration for Applebee’s or else the Three-Cheese Chicken Penne is acting up. Hahahahaha, fuck.
