Slurp the syrup.
Waffle fries and sodomy. Both are valid ways to spend an evening. They probably go quite well together too. I wouldn’t really know. I don’t believe that I am currently at a point of my life in which I can really appreciate fast food or homosexual congress; accordingly, I indulge in neither. However, I am cognisant of the way in which appeals to auxiliary passions can influence political apathy. Apathy is one thing in which I do occasionally indulge. If I had to vote, my support would probably be won by some trifling aesthetic consideration. Obama's the David Lee Roth of politics. He'd get my vote for that reason, but I can’t generally bring myself to have any significant opinions on the minuscule divergences people display over the real issues. That’s why I don’t vote. It would be bad for the system. But I know how the little things can get people to choose sides when they just don’t care about the actual situations. I just don’t want people to stand against gay rights because they like chicken. You can have both! Gay friends and waffle fries! No one really cares. I don’t think that you’re ever going to find a company that only involves thoroughly agreeable people. I don’t think that you’re ever going to find five reasonably populated square miles that only involve thoroughly agreeable people. You can grow your own food if you wish, but I don’t know where you’re going to get waffle plants. Waffle plants and fry vines. Those are especially scarce. I suppose that potatoes would suffice in a tight spot, though.
But that might not even work. You probably disagree with some of your own philosophies. I know that I do. If I based my dietary choices around the moral purity of the chef, I’d never eat anything I made. It hasn’t really been a problem yet, though. I don’t cook. I know that Toucan Sam isn’t exactly a model for archaeological protocol, but he doesn’t have time for legality or professional ethics when he’s diving to the bottom of Mayan temples for the treasure he seeks. And I can’t blame him! That treasure is one of the best breakfast cereals of all time, and I shall doubtlessly enjoy it till my dying day.
My grandmother is Jewish, but she still likes Wagner. Well. She likes “Das Rheingold”. I don’t think that she’d care to go to lunch with the man, but I’m sure that she might reconsider if he offered to pay for the waffle fries.
Worst syrup? Cough. It tastes awful, and it doesn't work. Maybe it does. I don't care. I'm not taking it. I don't need your molecular machines to fight a cough. Offer your viscous product to someone less delusional. I can take what comes. That's right. I take triumphalism to a cellular level.