It was crowded, junk-filled and odorous. They filed us in like goddamned cattle, taking our names and the number of family members we possessed. We were to be given a meal when our time was granted by the powers that be.

In the meantime, we were left to fend for ourselves and fight for positioning amongst the others who’d been shuffled in, not making eye contact and careful not to turn too abruptly, for fear of disrupting the multitude of random shit on the ceiling, walls and shelves around us, causing a stir and garnering unwanted attention.

The conditions were less than ideal, the crowd was thick and loud and the wait for where we’d be ushered to next, upon the barely audible announcement of our names by some miserable troll of a woman who appeared to hate the world and sounded to have dedicated her life to smoking since the ripe, young age of about fucking seven, was tedious.

Anticipation grew as we watched group after group step up when called and led into the large room around the corner. When would our time come and what would it encompass? Every second brought further stress to my increasingly-clenched jaw and an almost irresistible urge to punch every living organism I came into contact with in the goddamned thorax was coming to a head. Another 3-minutes would surely bring the demise of “troll-bitch” at the hand of my pissed-off ass and whatever random, blunt instrument I elected to pull off of these cluttered walls before I was undoubtedly subdued by her minions.

Then it happened. Her wretched cock-hole opened and rasped out the words of “KMFP” and my entire family was to follow one of her designated henchmen. Like lambs to the slaughter, we proceeded obediently, and without question, once again forced into a far too overcrowded situation, but at least given seats for this portion of our journey.

I use “seats” loosely, as these were more like the flattest, hardest piece of wood imaginable attached to four flimsy-ass legs that you were surely not to test too often by moving. Besides, the slightest of movement would result in the bruising of yourself or the person next to you, while also dangerous due to even more unnecessary shit piled on the table in front of you.

We were given a list of meal choices, which at least was nice, though a particularly bland bowl of paste was forced on the lot of us, regardless of what we chose. Was this to be our “Kool-Aid” in the “Jonestown” of a situation we’d found ourselves in (look it up)? Unless “Madam Cigarette” or one of her loyal goons forced me to at knife or vagina-point, I was having none of that gritty concoction.

In what could only be described as a disorganized, hectic display equivalent of monkeys attempting to fuck a football, it was finally determined what each of us was to receive as our sustenance. Now the waiting game began yet again, as we battled for air, legroom and comfort amongst ourselves and the families of those who were arranged so uncomfortably close to us that I think I could smell the empty cavity that would soon play host to their aforementioned meal. This was Hell on Earth.

After a time that was most likely nowhere near as horribly long as it seemed to me or any other rational man trapped inside this mess hall, gluttonous amounts of food were served on ridiculously oversized platters that made the already uncomfortable seating arrangement even more challenging. It was a true adventure to dodge your neighbors elbow and whatever piece of gaudy garbage was placed as an obstacle in front of you just to get some solid or liquid nourishment to your salivating lips without discarding the majority of it on either of your laps or the filthy floor below.

Upon finally mastering the skill set that would be necessary to complete this feast, you are shocked to find that the food you were provided with was actually quite tasty and satisfying, with the exception of the questionable, untouched bowl of slop you hoped went unnoticed before your release, should that be granted.

The masses sated themselves and awaited further instruction. Another hunchbacked associate of this glorified prison made their way to the table and it was announced that we were now to pay for this mostly torturous experience back in that miserable shit-storm of a room we first encountered upon our arrival.

With several offering to fall on the proverbial sword, a payer was decided on and another half-human payee was given our fee…or fine, depending on your view.

Seemingly being allowed to leave these unbelievably miserable accommodations without further harm to our soul, or very will to live, I made a break for the sunlight that I glimpsed through another shit-filled path and beyond some oversized doors.

I made it! I MADE it! SWEET CHUCK NORRIS, I FUCKING MADE IT!!! Kissing the sidewalk with thankfulness in my heart unfelt since I first knelt my face at the glorious bedside of an appreciative, horizontal female, I heard the “nails on chalkboard” uttering of “Old Smoky Troll” one final time: “Thank you for choosing Cracker Barrel”!

The food ain’t worth the misery, people…KMFP-out!

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# brockohol
Thursday, December 06, 2012 10:21 AM
Cracker Barrel is to restaurants what ALDI is to grocery stores

Last time I was there I almost fought an obese 60yr old man for bumping his fat ass into my 3 month olds car seat and acting as if nothing happened. Then we had the pleasure of sitting next to a family that looked like they came out of a Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie (or if your a ASIP fan the McPoyles). They used the word "Fuck" and "Aint" more than the word "the." When asked to watch the language we were told to mind our own "beeswax." Awesome!

Told my family members that recommended we eat breakfast there that we will be choosing the future restaurants.

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