Especially at "Wop Bobba Loo Bop Burger".
I don't know what remnant is left of American people that are able-bodied enough to still enjoy the "nostalgia" of the 50's and 60's themed restaurant, but it's enough to keep the doors open on the one in Grafer, New Mexico.
After being greeted with the most anemic "Hello, Daddy-O" I could imagine, I received a paper hand-written menu (The light in the overhead board was out or something) and then sort of rushed to make a decision by the cashier who seemed to be hitting a button that was playing really loud "car racing sounds" over a speaker.
My wife ordered "The Greaser with a side of Great Balls of Fire"-- (which were like, spicy hush pups)
I was considering "The Knuckle Sandwich", but instead I got the fish offering, the "Wop Bop Beluga".
As usual with any fast food place, the sauce, bun and piece of fish were on 3 separate continents upon opening the box. Once the slippery bun and questionable fish were slapped back together, I ate.
It was okay, but later on that night, I was a real Wet Rag at this hipster's party I went to. A real Party Pooper, if you know what I mean.
If you don't, it means I was shitting my absolute ####ing brains out.
His toilet was Cruisin' for a Bruisin'.
Man. I'd rather have been playing Back Seat Bingo with a (current) Jane Byrne.
Wop Bop Beluga.
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