Dear “Steak and Shake,”
You are an asshole for the following reasons:
- The delicious smell of your pancake sandwich—which you have dubbed the “Panwich” (610 calories, or an hour on the elliptical)—wafts into my Rockford, Illinois hotel bedroom every morning as I sadly consume a fat-free yogurt (75 calories, or 15 minutes of intense crying). Would I like to eat a sausage and scrambled eggs smothered in maple syrup between two pancakes? Yes, but I would also like to fit into my jeans.
- On my way to work, I see happy, smiling faces in your windows consuming your “Wisconsin Buttery Steak Burger” (950 calories, or two hours on the treadmill). Why you gotta play me like that? A double Steakburger topped with real melted Wisconsin butter and then covered with American cheese and grilled onions? Steak and Shake, I’ve been going to the gym like it’s my job to work off salads. Working off a double Steakburger? Ain’t nobody got time for that!
- Late at night as I trudge home, you’re there, with your lights on. You serve a burger with seven Steakburgers and seven slices of American cheese: your 7×7 (1,570 calories, or cutting off an entire leg to get rid of that weight). That doesn’t even make sense, Steak and Shake. Nobody has a mouth that big. What are you thinking? Answer: You are not thinking. You are playing fast and loose with the rules, and you’re being an idiot.
It’s Lent, Steak and Shake. It is motherfucking Lent. I am neck-deep in almsgiving and self-denial, so you need to step off of me, Steak and Shake! I am trying to be a better person, and you’re making that unnecessarily difficult. I am Jesus in the desert and you are the Devil, covered in melted fries and served with a Chocolate Fudge Brownie Milkshake (950 calories, or just admitting to the world that you’ve given up). What do you even think you’re doing?
You’re being an asshole, that’s what.
Please kindly revaluate your life and your choices, as I will be doing the same.