To set the scene, I walked into Marcos at about 12:30 today. It was sort of cloudy and humid. As I walked in the door, I spotted a worker named Jared. I had seen him working there before, but this time something was off. The place reeked of grease, and when I saw him I knew exactly why ... his hair, was drenched in nasty grease. I was distraught, wondering what I walked in to. I nearly threw up looking at this foul demon. The spawn of something impeccable, was staring at me deep into my soul. At one point I thought he was going to blast me with his disgusting grease cannons, removing me from this awful place. The molecular base of this human was filter by grease, it dripped from every crevasse in his body. I didn't know what to do, I stood there in silence hoping this hell hound of a human would rip my face from my body. I finally found the courage to ask for my simple yet exquisite pepperoni pizza. The look that this man gave me, should have turned me to stone at that very second. I don't know what got to him first, the grease or fucking Satan. He finally went to get my pizza, but as he went into the back, I heard the pizza scream for its life, begging this cheuksin to stop wrapping his greasy hair around his box. I was given the box and ran out of the door, that was the last time I ever set foot in a Marcos.
