Bob, you and your “Big Boy” used to be American Icons. I remember eating your hamburgers when I was a kid, and I mean sure I was a kid so I liked anything sandwiched between two buns, but I remember your food being at least, well, food. Then the tough years came, and you guys went into hiding, but I found you you fat fuck. I found you out in the desert by Barstow recently. And I went inside and I sat down and I ordered the fried sampler platter. You know why?

Because even the pictures on the menu looked atrocious and I couldn’t bring myself to order 99% of the menu for fear of a side of HEP A,B & C. So I figured if you fried the hell out of everything, maybe I might not die. The Good news is I didn’t die. The bad news is that your “food” is barely food. It deserves a new categorization of “barely food”. Stupid fat fucking white people were in your establishment for their Sunday night dinner. We wonder why California passed prop 8? If you can’t feed your family something better that Bobs on a Sunday night, how can you be expected to know your asshole from your elbow? If you eat barely food, you are probably barely human. Shame on you Bob, shame on the fat man, and shame on America.

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