"Aight, Just Gimme a Whopper..."

College (also see University)
col·lege
Pronounced: \ˈkä-lij\(noun)

1. A wonderous place made for attaining large quantities of sexual encounters
2. An institution designed for higher learning that is commonly used as an excuse for adolescents to move as far away from their parents as financially possible
3. The number one cause of debt in America (because of Sallie Mae mainly)
4. An environment where there is a common agreement that it is mandatory to go out every Thursday through Saturday night (length may increase according to which campus one attends) and drink as many alcoholic beverages as possible while trying to accomplish sexual achievements with the opposite sex. Those that do not follow this common agreement are dubbed "gay, pussies, nerds, geeks, losers, lovers of bitch-ass-ness, etc."
5. A setting where fast food chains can commonly be confused with one another due to late night menus and the effects of previously consumed tasty beverages...
Cited from Dashy's Dictionary 2008. Page 563.

Yes, each of these definitions correctly illustrates a different aspect of what college is all about. Originally, there were only 4 corresponding definitions to this word. However, after one recent night's turn of events, I felt like it was absolutely necessary to include the last definition mentioned...

Storytime:
It was a Friday night. This means that it was mandatory Dash to go out, find a house, drink all of the alcohol in the building, and stumble off into the night. On this particular night, I was accompanied by one of my close friends, Twister and another friend of his, Squid. We ventured out 9 blocks to a house party that we heard about via the social deathtrap known as "The Facebook." Upon arrival we were overwhelmed by the appalling scene of this "party." Male to female ratio is 4:1...but it's alright. Why? Because there are 3 coolers located in the kitchen filled to the brim with tasty beverage. I look at Twister and he does the nonverbal head nod and corresponding facial expression letting me know that it's another one of those nights where we ride it out and deplete any amount of alcohol that enters those coolers. Well played Twister. Well played indeed.

About an hour or so later, after going through a couple of cooler refills and attempted drunken dances with random fat bitches, Twister, Squid, and I decided it was time to depart this hot, dimly lit venue and return to the dorm for some intense rounds of Mario Kart on the N64. On the way out we run into one of our female friends who is obviously concerned about our safety and decides to walk with us on our way back home (also I think she just wanted to be the 4th Mario Kart competitor). Drunk to sober ratio is now 3:1 and these are not very good odds. So along the way, 3 of the 4 get lost. I honestly cannot tell you where they went or how they got lost together but now it's just me. But I can always find my way home. I simply use fast food restaurants as landmarks. Why? Because it's quite impossible to remember what street leads where, let alone attempt to read street signs in the dark while you are intoxicated. Look, in North Philadelphia, squinting your eyes while looking up to read street signs on street corners is a clear indicator that you're looking to get robbed.  So after wandering aimlessly for a good 5 to 10 minutes, I see those beautiful Golden Arches and I am instantly relieved because I am home free. It's a cakewalk from here because I know exactly where I am. However, I was extremely famished, so I decided to go inside...

Prepare yourself; this next section is vulgar and unedited. It is the conversation I had with this bitch behind the register, along with the thoughts that went through my head. The things you are about to read may be disturbing.---

I get to the counter...

Cashier bitch - Welcome to McDonald's what would you like?
Dash's Thought Bubble - (I'm a fucking college student. I'm broke bitch... what do you think I want?)
Dash - Lemme get 3 double cheeseburgers in my life.
-I'm sorry it's after 12 o'clock. We're only doing our late night menu - numbers 2 though 10.
-(AHH!! This the bullshit! I'm certain this bitch can assemble a double cheeseburger after 12 o'clock. This makes no sense! Fuck this bitch...Now I gotta get one sandwich for the same price I could have gotten 3. Might as well just get the biggest sandwich they have to compensate.)
-Aight, just gimme a whopper.
-Sir, you are at McDonald's...
-(BITCH DO I LOOK LIKE I'M BLIND? UNLIKE THAT NIGGA OVER THERE, I AM NOT WEARING SUNGLASSES AT NIGHT...)
-Yea... Ok... I know where I am. Just let me get my whopper.
-I'm sorry but we can't make you a whopper.
-(STOP... Did this bitch just REFUSE my service?--------------SPAZZ ON THIS BITCH RIGHT NOW)
-FUCK YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T MAKE ME A WHOPPER?!?! PUT THE SHIT ON THE GRILL RIGHT NOW... COOK IT AND THEN PLACE IT RIGHT HERE IN MY HAND!! I DON'T NEED WRAPPING PAPER EITHER. IT'S NOT GONNA BE A SURPRISE!
-But sir, this is McDonald's. We don't make...
-(This bitch's visor has to go. Fuck is she wearing that shit for? Does she plan to audit my meal as well? It's gotta go into the fry cooker...)
-GET ME A FUCKING WHOPPER! I DON'T WANNA HEAR NONE OF THAT 'THIS IS MCDONALD'S BULLSHIT'. THE RECIPE FOR A WHOPPER IS NOT A FUCKING SECRET! THERE IS NO SPECIAL SAUCE. NO SECRET INGREDIENTS... JUST A BURGER WITH LETTUCE, TOMATOES, ONIONS AND KETCHUP. AND FUCK ALL THAT SESAME SEED BUN SHIT!

The employees are dumbfounded. Terrified, the girl looks at her chunky ass 56-year-old manager whose back-of-the-neck area eerily resembles a pack of hot dogs (making my appetite grow larger) and he slowly hands her a sandwich.

-Here you go, sir.
-(Jesus... This bitch just handed me a little cardboard box that CLEARLY states "Quarter Pounder w/ Cheese"...)

Just as I am about to hop over the counter, slap that ridiculous visor off of her head, and slam her face upon the mechanism that imprints the little "M" on McGriddle sandwiches, Twister bursts through McDonald's doors.  Twister comes in screaming and yelling things that I cannot possibly understand. Partially because I'm drunk and incoherent and partially because he's speaking Spanish! When the fuck did he learn Spanish?  Why the fuck is he speaking Spanish? I quit. I pick up my little cardboard box as stumble to a table where I sit down and eat the worst Quarter Pounder of my life. Absolutely terrible. They simply could have placed a sandwich in my hand that consisted of only ketchup and sugar inserted into a single bun folded over and told me it was a whopper. And it would have been the best whopper I ever tasted. Ignorance is bliss. However, awareness gets you pissed. I don't even remember paying for it. And I'm glad I didn't because I was thoroughly dissatisfied. McDonald's is a fraud. McDonald's, home of the happy meal, did not put a smile upon my miserable face. And I absolutely DESPISE their commercials. NEVER have I felt the urge to get up and pop and lock like Sisqo in the middle of the restaurant after biting into a sandwich, nor have I ever seen any little white children eating their McNuggets to the beat of the Cha-Cha slide.  If you never saw that commercial, consider yourself lucky.

I'm sick of it. If I ever see Ronald McDonald with his fake ass Zorro companion and that bitch ass purple Pokemon on the street, I'm calling the troops. My boy BK, the Taco Bell Chihuahua, Lil' Wendy (she's tougher than she looks on the cup), Colonel Sanders, Popeye, and the Geico Lizard, and I are all putting on Jack-in-the-Box masks (just so we all look like Joker) and Arby's cowboy hats and then initiating a group stomp upon anyone MCD affiliated. Word to motha.  And then afterwards when they are unable to move because of the pain we've inflicted, I will look down at a crippled Ronald McDonald and ask, "WHY SO SERIOUS?" I will then proceed in shoving thousands of "America's Favorite Fries" into his mouth until he forms somewhat of a grin. Once this is achieved I'll simply state, "We love to see you smile...bitch."