Dear guy who just made my burger:

Why, in man's hubris, did we allow not only for Burger King to exist on this plane, but for YOU to be hired in this specific establishment? You, my man, are special. In a special kinda way. How, i ask, does one fuck up a HAMBURGER this bad? See, the loose definition of a hamburger is meat and other ingredients between 2 buns. This, you managed to succeed in. You certainly did put edible matter between bread. The issue emerges when you managed to create a geopolitical landscape of ingredients, let me explain. At the bottom of the social ladder here is the humble pickle. I don't particularly LOVE pickles, but it'd be nice if they weren't getting dicked around and smothered like Ethiopia to Italy. They were the bows and spears to the tank that was the mayonnaise. How. HOW DO YOU DUMP THIS MUCH MAYO ON A BUN. It takes a special kind of evil to allow this. Our corporate overlords are not Amazon, google, or anything other than BURGER KING. This wretched little worker managed to compress this mayonnaise to the density of a neutron star and place a little cube of it on my burger, which once put in the bag, returned to normal density and exploded everywhere. Next, after trudging through that like World War I soldiers through mud, I finally taste the slightest hint of.. is that meat? Oh my lord it is. This sandpaper bullshit you conjured up was hilarious. I can't take it anymore. All there was was pickles, meat, and mayonnaise. Everything else was indiscernible. Thank you for this humbling experience. You have transformed me into a feeble old man because of how weak that was. this is my final plea for help. Please stop making burgers for the rest of your pathetic life