What Your Breakfast at Carl's Jr. Says About You

You ever get the feeling Carl's Jr. is fucking with you? Their breakfast line up is basically a big dare. I used to have a friend Craig who would fortify his Quarter Pounders with nuggets and BBQ sauce and request different cheeses and extra patties for everything. It's like Craig is running the kitchen lab at CJ Headquarters and every experiment got green-lit. 

If you ordered one of these (and you aren't stoned or Into The Wild caliber starving) let me tell you about you. 

You always show up at fast food places at 11 in the morning right at the switch-over from breakfast to lunch. Don't think CJ hasn't noticed. You are valuable and now you have your own sammie. It's called the Breakfast Burger. Eat it slow. It's two meals. And try not to be so indecisive in the future. 

"Ah, shit. Exit 14B, right there! Damnit. Who knows when we'll see another Burg- wait. How do you feel about Carl's Jr.? I think they do breakfast too." You like croissanwiches, son. But anywhere else this is your exotic option; at Carl's Junior it's your island of normalcy in a sea of mutants. Congrats. You're a straight arrow. 

You can never decide between sausage and bacon. Can't they just get along? Yep. Oh hey, what kind of cheese do you like? Swiss? American? Order a Monster Breakfast Sandwich and witness the Utopia that is All Your Decisions Being Made For You. No one gets left behind. You must be a marine.

Yeah, better make it a wrap. You ate bread yesterday and don't wanna tip the scales. Guess who has a gym membership but never goes. Yep. Say hello to your jam. It's cool though. There's veggies in the salsa.

You sure do love yellow, man. But you're not a coward; you're Sando Calrissian.

Holy balls. You have a great poker face. You're like Blade with your poker fuckin' face because you order this and you're like, "I grew up eating this kinda stuff. My metabolism needs it." If you don't look like Wesley Snipes when you say that, the whole charade falls apart and suddenly, you're Paul Giamatti and you're asking for more napkins and like, crying and you can't even look in the rear view mirror as you drive away for fear of seeing your hideous self staring back. No. You're cool as fuck. Then duder behind the counter is all, "Do you want a fork and knife for that thing? It's messy." You say the always bet on black-equivalent, which is "My piss could eat this thing without a fork and knife." If you pulled all that off, then you totally deserve this meal. 

Yo don't bother clicking the Nutrition Information links on the website. The only thing that pops up is this: