The Fayette Citizen-Opinion Page
Wednesday, June 16, 1999
Peachtree City and, like, hot fries

By BILLY MURPHY

Laugh Lines

Peachtree City. If you are not familiar with us, we are just a humble little community. We are truly a throwback to simpler times. Where the rest of the city of Atlanta is caught in traffic driving at a snail's pace, 15 miles per hour, we in Peachtree City won't put up with such metropolitan rubbish; we are traveling along the beautiful scenery in our golf carts, at... uh... 15 miles per hour. We have, like, 15,000 golf carts in Peachtree City and, like, 200 golfers.

In Peachtree City, we also hold ourselves to very high and strict standards. As a matter of fact, like the Victorian age, you might even see poor lost souls about, carrying the scarlet letter branded across their clothes for all to see. Such a shame. These are the people you would see with the letter “K,” who have been caught buying their clothes at Kmart!!

In the same right, we have to be the SUV capital of the world! The sports utility vehicle. Pathfinders, Cherokees, Explorers, Expeditions. Everywhere you go, this is all you see. We just have to be so trendy and so superior. Leather bucket seats, CD player, rack and pinion steering. Oops, I'm back to talking about golf carts again.

But, I bet we have more SUVs than golf carts. Women are especially crazy when they drive these things. They think they are mountain men or something. These petite, tennis-dress-clad ladies are running me off the road, becoming the WCW equivalent of drivers. I think the initials SUV really stand for “Surrender U Vermin.”

To change the subject, I got the hot fries today. You've had these, I know. This is why you are waiting so long at the drive-thru at McDonald's.

They are making up the French fries. They are always behind with the fries. Hmm, like what percentage of people order fries with their meals? Could it be like 100 percent? But no, they have the guy over there with the paper hat, and polyester outfit just waiting. He has the 10-pound bag of frozen potatoes and the converted hamster cage, wire basket, whatever; just waiting first for the order to be taken. “Hey, we need fries!” Now, like, 30 people are waiting in line and he puts enough fries in the basket for, like, four orders! Everybody is gonna want fries!

So now, I get the hot french fries. If there was ever a culinary object lesson for the fires of hell, this is it. You can't even get them from the drive-thru window to your front seat without burning yourself. The person in the window is handing them over wearing oven mitts, fire alarms are going off, you're having to wear sunscreen. These things will make asbestos cry. NASA could learn a thing or two from McDonald's.

“What? You can build a space ship to travel to the moon and reenter the atmosphere without burning up?” “We can turn hard-frozen potatoes into sizzling cholesterol sticks in less than four minutes.”

But now we have to eat the fries. And we can't let them cool. We have to figure all kind of ways to try to eat them hot. We hold them between our teeth and blow. Some people sort of let them just sizzle on top of their tongue saliva. And you have the ones who chase the fry with a big gulp of Coke; the french fry just floating around in a big mouthful of soda.

There's plenty of soda these days, too. Is it just me or are the drinks getting bigger and bigger? You can hardly hold them between your legs anymore while you're driving.

People try to say road rage is caused by the combination of traffic and bad drivers. I say everybody is just temporarily insane, cause they are driving around with their top half nearly scalded from french fries and the bottom half suffering from hypothermic shock from holding the equivalent of a liquid nitrogen silo against your groin.

And this is just on the golf cart.


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