EVERYTHING IS A BURGER.

If you “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love” then what’re you talkin’ ‘bout, just bein’ friends? That’s a burger. Van Halen’s a burger. Similarly, if you “Feel Like Making Love” then you’re not really making love, you’re just feeling like it. (Who doesn’t?) (Who doesn’t feel like making love?) That’s a burger. Bad Company’s a burger.

What kind of music does a financial instrument play? Songs about executive salaries built upon the manipulation of your debt, that’s what. I think I smell a burger. The guys from Accounting head out to lunch. “I don’t want a burger,” they say, but they order fish ‘n’ chips / chips ‘n’ salsa. That’s a burger. Alternative to burger’s a burger.

This entrée was invented out of necessity many years ago in Europe, by a class of people known as the Burghers. They lived in burghs (e.g., Pittsburghers) and they were busy, so they required a convenient repast. A chain sprung up, Burgher King, run by Old MacDonald. You’ve heard of him. He had a Firm, C-E, C-E-O.

“Duck Duck Goose” is a burger. They might as well stop calling for Red Rover, and instead, send burger right over. This land is both your land and my land because it’s a burger. Fifty strip-malls, fifty strip-clubs, fifty strip-searches, fifty strip-mines sewn into the little square on the flag. Pledge allegiance to the burger, citizen.

Your alarm clock wakes you, is a burger. (Explanation: time’s a burger.) You lie in bed listening to the news, is a burger. (Explanation: radio’s a burger.) You miss your train, and as a consequence, you miss your meeting, is a burger. (Explanation: sloth’s a burger.) Somewhere in the city wafts arena rock. Wafts the burger . . .