Lot of debate lately about what to do with the abandoned Burger King. As I recall it was the site of a number of high profile patron illness incidents. It stayed open for several more years, though. Finally closed down when the county outlawed dessert. The restaurant portion is pretty much intact. Burger King corporate took out all the fryers and sink knobs and flipped all the menus inside out, but they're still readable. The playland area in front, though, hasn't held up to the scrappers and barn owls. There's some vinyl-rubber net ladder melted around a fiberglass onion ring and the ball pit puts off a lot of steam when it rains. It's most certainly filled with spiders and ghosts. The whole place is just a mess. The persistent chemical smell has forced the daycares to reroute their rope walks. And Heavenly Father Received Baptist church next door isn't happy with the way our teenagers stand motionless in its parking lot. So it has to go. There have been several proposals to turn it into knick-knack and curio shops. Some folks want to hand it over to the state to use for one of those information desks with all the water park and turkey hunting pamphlets. And there's the cries from the usual corners to clear the land and erect another 30' redemption cross. Selfishly, I'd like to see another undershirt factory go in there. But it's not up to me. It's not up to any one man. Nope. No sir. On account of the way this state of ours was entered into the Union, the future of Burger King Restaurant No. 904b is in the hands of a little cartoon bird only the mayor can see. We just have to wait.

Lot of debate lately about what to do with the abandoned Burger King. As I recall it was the site of a number of high profile patron illness incidents. It stayed open for several more years, though. Finally closed down when the county outlawed dessert.

The restaurant portion is pretty much intact. Burger King corporate took out all the fryers and sink knobs and flipped all the menus inside out, but they’re still readable.

The playland area in front, though, hasn’t held up to the scrappers and barn owls. There’s some vinyl-rubber net ladder melted around a fiberglass onion ring and the ball pit puts off a lot of steam when it rains. It’s most certainly filled with spiders and ghosts. The whole place is just a mess.

The persistent chemical smell has forced the daycares to reroute their rope walks. And Heavenly Father Received Baptist church next door isn’t happy with the way our teenagers stand motionless in its parking lot. So it has to go.

There have been several proposals to turn it into knick-knack and curio shops. Some folks want to hand it over to the state to use for one of those information desks with all the water park and turkey hunting pamphlets. And there’s the cries from the usual corners to clear the land and erect another 30′ redemption cross.

Selfishly, I’d like to see another undershirt factory go in there.

But it’s not up to me. It’s not up to any one man. Nope. No sir. On account of the way this state of ours was entered into the Union, the future of Burger King Restaurant No. 904b is in the hands of a little cartoon bird only the mayor can see.

We just have to wait.

Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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