I used to boycott all of the companies that my father, the corporate attorney, was fired from.
Instead of whacking off to Playboy bunnies, I whacked off to Penthouse pets.
Instead of eating Wendy’s heart attacks on a bun, I ate McDonalds or Burger King stroke sandwiches.
Instead of Little Caesars, which peddled fried bread with cheese that was greasier than the family that owned the company, I ordered local pizza.
And instead of Applebees and Sbarros microwaved restaurant entrees, I microwaved my own stuff.
Now that the asshole is dead, I still boycott them.
Because they make lousy food.