Brothers, The other evening, after finishing a brutal workout , Nobby and I staggered out of the gym. Bent bars, snapped cables, holes in the floor from where a bar loaded with 800 pounds had been dropped off of my back at the end of a set of squats, all indicated that truly Herculean efforts had been made by Nobby and I. Time for the post workout meal! We headed to McDonald's for our usual 10,000 plus post-workout meal. The line up at McDonald's was frightening. Nobby and I entered, and he commented on the crowd. "Watch and learn, Nobby old chap" I remarked, and then I shoved my way up to the front of the line, tossing folk aside and glaring down those who grumbled, before triumphantly reaching the counter. Nobby followed, his trusty motorbike chain dangling from his clenched fist, lest any troublemakers try to protest. "We have to eat NOW, Nobby...our muscles are shrinking, for God's sake!" I cried. Our turn came to order. "Good evening, Sir, and what can I get you?" the cashier asked. "Everything." "Er..excuse me, Sir? What do you mean by 'everything'?" the pimple-faced punk asked. "EVERYTHING!!!" I roared, making a sweeping gesture with my hand, indicating the entire array of hamburgers, fries, pies, etc., in front of us. "And make it ****ing quick, sunshine!" I snapped. Nobby's glare persuaded the terrified boy to quickly begin piling every piece of food in sight onto trays- heaps of various burgers, pies, scoops and scoops of fries, etc. The waiting was too much- we needed food and we needed it fast. Nobby's patience gave way and, in need of some calories, he grabbed a 'Happy Meal' from the hands of a little boy and wolfed down the contents- not even bothering to unwrap the hamburger! As the young lad sniffled, I reprimanded Nobby, muttering, "You bastard! Get the child something to make him feel better!". Nobby lumbered over to the plastic 'Happy Meal' toy display case, showing all 5 toys available to be collected, punched a hole in it, ripped it off the wall and handed the young lad the 5 toys that had been displayed within. He then punched a lady in the face, snatched her take-out bag, and handed it to the happy lad. "Well done, Nobby- your kindness indeed overrunneth!" I commended him. Our food took 5 or 6 trips to bring it all to the 3 tables we occupied, and soon we were eating our way through a mountain of food, stopping occasionally to take a swig of whiskey from the bottle I had brought in under my coat. Some time later, our hands shaking in effort to force feed ourselves, we finally managed to eat the last bit of food. I stood up, and reeled back- well, it wouldn't be the first time I had eaten until I was sick, but brothers, we Warriors suffer the pain! As Nobby and I staggered over to the counter for some napkins, the manager approached us. "Gentlemen, we just can't have you coming in here next time and..." he wasn't quite finished when, with a, "'BLAAAARRRRGGHH!!!" I vomited all over him and the front counter as well! I needed to replace those lost calories and, seizing a tray of french fries, I threw down a few bills and staggered out the front door. The manager followed us out, informing us that he had called the police. He was quickly silenced by a blow from Nobby's bike chain, and as he lay on the ground, Nobby continued beating him with his bike chain. As we drove off, several police cars pulled in to the McDonald's parking lot, one of them running over the unconscious manager! Brothers- is it me- or those McDonald's employees? Aren't they supposed to always smile, for God's sake?