LUDIC LOG

Let me tell you about White Castle sliders.

In case you are unfamiliar with WC, they are burger joints notable for three things:

1. Their employees are genetically damaged to an unseemly degree. Even by fast food standards. If you've ever wondered what happens to the glorious manly fluids that coat the faces of our favorite porn stars after they are wadded into Kleenex brand facial tissues, dried up and thrown out, the answer is: the leavings are scraped somehow into the uteri of desperate women, and the result is White Castle employees.

2. The restaurants (if you want to call them that) are not only CALLED White Castle, but are actually SHAPED like white castles! If castles were made of tin and pressboard!

3. Sliders!

Sliders are little hamburgers, square and about half the size of a playing card. They're steamed with onion and they melt in your mouth, and that's not necessarily a good thing. They sort of disintegrate once you start to chew them. No one is in the middle path of the Buddha about sliders: they either think they are like manna from the virgin cooney from Mother Mary Fullagrace, or they think they are like stinky poo poo from the festering behind of Beelzebub.

The thing is, they exert a powerful influence on the drunk and stoned. I can't explain it using your primitive Earth science, but when you're high off your gourd, or you're coming back from a club or party where you've had lots and lots of corn-likker, there is nothing in the world better than a bunch of these fluffy-bunned, cheeseyfied, pulverized-meat-and-onion little bastards. Many of my pals and I have cut back our lifespans significantly on these things after a long night of deadly mayhem (and I mean significantly: you can actually feel your heart shriveling after only one slider, and two or three will reside in your bowels for several weeks to come, emerging at awkward moments such as weddings, funerals and public speaking engagements).

But here's the kicker: they sell these fuckers in sacks of THIRTY!!! It's right there on the menu: "Sack of 30 Cheeseburgers". What kind of irresponsible temptation is this for the drunken drug addicts of the midwest? It's as if you could go to Denny's and you had the option of ordering FIFTEEN Moons Over My Hammy! It's criminal I tell you!

Not so criminal that I don't eat there at least once a week. I'm just saying.