Behold, the Arches of Evil ascend screaming from hell!

Oh how I love a blog. What other outlet is there in the world on which, after three and three quarter hours of working for a contemporary Nazi regime with more power than the combined armies of Hitler, Mussolini, Caligula and Stalin but with at least twice as much pure evil, then an entire night of bitching to your friends about how much McDonald's is a contemporary Nazi regime with more power than the combined armies of Hitler, Mussolini, Caligula and Stalin but with at least twice as much pure evil, you can then fart on in an angry, ranting sort of way and repeat everything you said last night and in fact repeat everything you just said a few sentences ago to anyone who cares, or even doesn't care? It's brilliant, isn't it?

Yes, last night, Mcdonald's at Martin Place sunk to a new low in terms of revulsion, lack of cleanliness, and lack of fair and equitable treatment of workers. And that was just when we thought that only in the building of the Pyramids could there have been any occurrence of lower treatment of underlings. But let's just say that last night I would have killed to be dragging ridiculously oversized pieces of sandstone around while being whipped, just so long as the whiff from the caked-on grease on the walls, floor and miscellaneous cables behind the grills would go away... Yes that's right ladies and gents and super-intelligent squirrels, last night for the first time in about six months (it would appear), the grills were pulled out from their superficially clean little alcove to reveal the abject horrors of the marsh beyond... Horrors that would dare not even be dreamed up at an acid party held by Edgar Allan Poe and attended by F.W. Murnau and Sam Raimi. Horrors that would make a Vietnam veteran yearn for happier times in a Viet-cong POW camp, sleeping in shit and watching their friends scream in agony as they're tortured slowly to death. And as though beholding that sight alone were not enough to suck all the hopes and dreams out of even the most pious soul, the laws of physics state of course that along with the sight of months of repulsive grease build-up must come a smell. A smell which could infiltrate a toxic sewer and force the entire contents to evacuate. And if you now imagine being forced to scrub away at this swamp with a white brush that barely fits into your hand and repeatedly having to traipse to the back sink to spray the remnants of five hundred thousand grease-filled meat-flavoured patties, only to return to the scene of the worst crime against hygiene again and again... well I daresay you understand when I say that both I and my coworker vowed on our lives never to eat the foul grime ever again. And I daresay you can understand my brilliant paraphrasing of a Bal-Sagoth song for this post's title, as well as last night's paraphrasing of a certain well-known character when I said "Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er knew true revulsion till this night!"

Anyway, it seems I've ranted enough for the minute. I came away from that place last night and a little voice said to me, "Sam. You must warn the masses. Before it's too late". And then another voice said to me, "Luke, use the blog!". And following this, a third voice said "Sam, you are hearing imaginary voices preaching hardcore Marxism and fictional rebel alliancism, you need to stop eating those mushrooms you find on the sidewalk" So here I am. The rant. The warning. In blogified form. Next time you have that craving for a quarter pounder with cheese, or a partially-gelatinated non-dairy gum-based beverage, remember this, and take the safe option. Eat Oporto's instead. After all, I've never seen behind their grills. And as a famous cliché-writer once wrote, Ignorance is indeed bliss.