Check this, man.
So, a couple of weeks ago I bought a box of frozen mozzarella sticks from the store, 'cos I'm a sad single piece of shit that doesn't know how to cook. They were sitting in the freezer all this time, right, just minding their own business. Tonight I finally tell myself, 'right gonna have a proper FEAST for dinner' and I take the sticks out and I leave them cooking in the oven. While I'm waiting for the things to thaw, I check the box, nutrition facts, specifically. Just for something to do, you know? It's not like I'm insecure about my health or whatever, I'm thin as a twig and walk for a living. Also I don't have a car anymore and have to walk everywhere when I'm not walking for work, and admittedly that's all my fault. But anyway, back to the label.
What's the serving size? One stick.
Are you shitting me. One stick isn't a serving. One stick is like half an appetizer.
Okay, well how many servings per box. Nutrition label says about eight. ABOUT eight? What's this amateur bullshit, you can't measure out eight sticks into a box? I open the oven right quick to count out how many there were in the box, and, sure enough, there are seven in there, laying all innocent on the metallic grate. Fuck you man, seven sticks isn't 'about eight'. I can understand 'about this many servings' for something like a bag of goldfish crackers, where you can't honestly expect them to measure out an exact number into every bag, but for something like this, where there are literally less than ten pieces a bag, I don't think it's too much for me to expect that they'd give me exactly eight sticks per box. None of this 'maybe seven, maybe nine' bullshit, give me what I paid for, motherfucker.
Somewhere out there, there's a family of four that are preparing their nice family dinner and the absentminded father stuck seven of these sticks into the oven, because the nutrition label lied to him barefaced, saying that there were eight. And he's taking the sticks out, measuring two for himself, two for his college-bound daughter, two for his six-year old son, and one for his lovely wife. The wife, she just completely falls apart, screaming and throwing plates all over, questioning whether he really loves her, whether he's been seeing someone else on the side, someone he's saving the last mozzarella stick for. The marriage dissolves, the funding for the daughter's continuing education disappears into supplementary mozzarella stick purchases, she grows up to be a prostitute and her kid brother becomes a junkie street thug.
All because fucking T.G.I. Friday's just doesn't give half a shit about providing their customers with a quality product.
I buy a box of frozen Eggo waffles, does the box say 'about ten waffles'? No, it says 'ten waffles' clearly on the side of the box. And every box contains ten, no more, no less. How does the frozen mozzarella stick industry continue to get away with such wanton negligence? I call for a boycott of all T.G.I. Friday's products. This disrespect of the consumer cannot be allowed to continue.
Listening to: Zardonic and Voicians - Bring Back the Glory
Watching: Ultimate Versus by Ryuhei Kitamura
Playing: Hotline Miami
Eating: Mozzarella sticks, begrudgingly.
Drinking: Breakfast tea with milk.