hamburgers

Hamburgers, hamburgers, everywhere and not a one I can eat.

There are t-shirts and shoes and ties covered with them. Felt hats, sun glasses, pocket watches and stockinged socks, but not one that is edible. There are wooden carvings and marble statues, cast iron designs and still there's none to eat. Rings, accessories and all sorts of things, but there's not a cheesy whiff.

You'd think that at a hamburger convention, they would be selling burgers in their thousands to adoring and hungry fans. But no. Despite the few walking burger costumes and hamburglars, the only food here belongs in a health food shop. Nuts and fruits and salads to boot, there's nothing edible here. Not a greasy chip or even an oily fry, I'm so hungry I think I could die.

Where are the sweet halves of sesame buns, the squirts of ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise? Where are the pickles, onion slices and meaty patties, oozing juicy fatness? Where are the stacks of processed cheeses made expressly for fast food chains? There's nothing here. I'll have to go. This is not the place for me. No gourmet pickings. No hamburgers feasts. No gorging 'til I'm bloated. There's not even a eating contest. This is no fun.

I've learnt my lesson. Next time, I'll know. There's not a chance I'll come again. Hamburger conventions are for string-bean sized health freaks who dream of being as round and healthy as me. I practised for this size and have daily eaten my weight in burgers. If no one else appreciates it, I'll not stay around for them to stare.

Hamburger, hamburgers, everywhere and not one that I can eat.