Going Ape for Pookies Donuts
Pink gorilla robot + cheesesteak + plus fresh, super-sweet doughnuts + Alice. We're just grateful no one was injured in the frenzy at Pookies Donuts (6522 Lemmon Ave.).
Other people count: 13
People-watching amazingness level: 2,310
When you see the giant pink gorilla robot waving at you in front of Pookies Donuts with a sign around his neck that says, "What's my name?" you pull the fuck over. Because of evolution. You can't not pull over when you see something that amazing. It's a proven fact. Ask science.
Don't drive through at Pookies. Go inside. Because, inside, there's Old Man Stranger who demands that you order the Philly cheesesteak. "I'm waiting on four of them right now. They're huge sandwiches. They're great. Philly. Get the Philly, you want the Philly."
Heh, heh ... up yours, Diet Coke.
Great. Now I have to fucking order the Philly cheesesteak from a doughnut shop because old-man peer pressure always works. Fruity Pebbles-covered doughnut as a side item it is. And obviously I'm going to order a Diet Coke with that just because I know it pisses Diet Coke off to order it at that point.
Me: (pointing and laughing in Diet Coke's stupid face) Haha. I ordered you.
Diet Coke: 1,000 calories and a Diet Coke? Seriously? Laugh it up, dumbshit.
Me: Hahahahahahahahahaha (breath) Hahahahahahahahahah.
As soon as I ordered my food, the super nice lady behind the counter at Pookies said, "I'm not gonna give you that doughnut that's been sitting there all day -- let me make you a fresh one." Sweet. I like fresh things.
Meanwhile, Some Skinny Old Dude yells, "You call that saying grace?!" at his companions, who are excited about their doughnuts because, "They look like the doggies feet!" Nearby, a pleather chair farts.
The doughnut showed up first, and it was everything I had expected that it would be: a doughnut with fucking Fruity Pebbles on it, y'all. Plus, it had some kind of icing that tasted like a Flinstones Push-Up pop. It was ridiculous. And I was proud to have ordered it.
When my gigantic, oozy-cheese-covered Philly cheesesteak showed up, I was a little scared. I could see cheese, meat pile and onions on bread. I slowly Sriracha-ed my Philly, knowing that there was no way this strangely awesome experience could get any better than it had already been. And I was right. But, you guys -- fucking pink gorilla robot, farting chairs and yelling old dudes. You can't not stop here.