What Grinds My Gears #1: Grease

It really grinds my gears when I have to literally study a menu in a restaurant for a half hour just to find what ISN'T deep fried or slathered with olive oil. I swear, every time I sit down in any establishment I'm forced to rule out 99 percent of the menu items for the shear fact that I know I'll end up with some shiny blob of shit. Then, when I actually do decide on something that I think might be safe, like for instance, uh, spaghetti marinara, I still somehow end up with a greasy, greasy pile of spooge! No, restaurants. Not acceptable.

Since when did the entire world start being content with feeling like slimy bastards after every meal? I see people fuckin' slip-sliding out of restaurants all day long! No, blobs. Not acceptable. The shiny blobs need to change their diet or something. The blobs need to band together and say, "We'll mad as hell, and blobby, and we're not gonna take it anymore!" Then the blobs can just shift their collective weight and knock every Church's Chicken off it's foundation. Hopefully the chicken wouldn't pile out on top of the blobs; that'd just be counterproductive.

See, this has to work from the outside-in. People have to first refuse to be complacent with looking like amorphous java the hut creatures, and then the food industry will have no choice but to stop serving pig-fat-marinated-everything! That's the only way it'll change people.

Until then, it will grind my gears and I'll be forced to eat egg sandwiches and ceaser salads until I die a sad, lonely man. But at least I'll have my egg sandwiches to keep me company on my death bed.