There has always been a Burger King in my small town. They always sell the Whopper and Junior Whopper for as long as I could remember. French fries and milk shakes to cater to my late night cravings and innovative creations every season to help scratch that unknown itch.
When the chicken fries came out, I was floored by the concept of fries being made out of chicken. It was like chicken tenders, but slimmer and.....in fry form. What a time to be alive!
The onion rings were always cooked "fresh" to order, and the soda always was crisp on hot days.
The staff was always happy in service to the almighty Burger King.
But something changed some time ago. The once high crown of the Burger Kingdom was brought low.
I first noticed the decline when the Whoppers lost their flame-grilled magic. The lettuce was so wilted it looked like it had run a marathon, the tomatoes were paler than a programmer's tan, and the patties had suspicious microwave marks that screamed "I gave up on life." Something was terribly wrong in the Kingdom of Burger, and it wasn't just the "special" sauce going bad.
The employees, once proud to serve under the King's banner, now shuffled about like zombies who'd given up on eating brains and settled for minimum wage. They mumbled cryptic phrases like "corporate mandates" and "cost-cutting measures" while staring into the void where their hopes and dreams used to be. Their paper crowns - once proud symbols of fast-food royalty - had been replaced with visors so plain, they made beige look exciting.
I knew I had to investigate. Armed with nothing but my appetite for justice and an expired coupon for a free medium drink with purchase (terms and conditions may apply, void where prohibited, not valid on days ending in 'y'), I began my quest to find the Burger King himself.
The rumors were wild: the King was last seen fleeing into the walk-in freezer, pursued by mysterious figures in suits so expensive they made the dollar menu look like pocket change. They say he vanished into the frozen wastes, their spreadsheets of doom hot on his heels. Legend has it he still wanders those frigid aisles, his once-mighty crown now a popsicle, desperately searching for the perfect flame-broiling temperature while muttering "Have it your way" to boxes of frozen fries...