nettime's_restaurant_reviewer on Fri, 14 May 1999 00:16:07 +0200 (CEST)

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<nettime> Letters to Wendy


The following letters were written on postage-paid "Tell Us About Your
Visit" cards found in Wendy's fast-food restaurant. They are excerpted
from a series of more than 340 letters written over about a year's

September 2, 1996 

       I love the cleanliness of a Wendy's. Such a clean is not in any
       sense a banishing of genitalia; it is the creation of a quiet
       bright mind-space that allows for the deliciousness of genitalia
       to become obvious. I look out over the colorful clean tables and
       the pretty food posters and I like people again; each has a dick
       and balls, or a cunt and titties, which, clean, are simply

September 10, 1996 

      I wanted to say today to my register-person that my penis was
      broad. "My dick is broad," I would say, or "Do you understand how
      broad my cock is?" Maybe simply, "The breadth of my penis." What's
      the point? There are times when ambiguity is not a failure to tend
      to a specific concern, but rather, is an articulation of the
      limits of concern, without which we are certainly nobody. 

September 13, 1996 

       Rather than restrict sexual activity to a specific set of acts, or
       restrict the articulation of such acts, we need only draw real
       lines, lines upon the earth, to mark whether or not sexuality is
       in this place active. The question, then, is: is sex now, here? If
       it is, well then. If it isn't, as, in Wendy's, it always isn't,
       then a campaign dawns, and we stand fast in the sexy inception of
       already failed propaganda. 

September 14, 1996 

       Last night I dreamt that I pissed on Wendy's head. I entered the
       restroom, approached the urinal, and started pissing, when
       suddenly I realized it was not a urinal at all. . . but Wendy. As
       I began to protest (to the dream itself) I understood that I must
       have known it was her. I felt ashamed, yet wronged. I also felt
       like the only thing I ever wanted to happen was finally happening. 

September 20, 1996 

       Today I had a Biggie. Usually I just have a small, and refill. Why
       pay more? But today I needed a Biggie inside me. Some days, I
       guess, are like that. Only a Biggie will do. You wake up and you
       know: today I will get a Biggie and I will put it inside me and I
       will feel better. One time I saw a guy with three Biggies at once.
       One wonders not about him but about what it is that holds us back. 

September 21, 1996 

       If I had to say what Wendy really was - if she had to be one thing
       instead of a field of various energies - I think I'd have to say
       that she was a penis. Something about her face and the shape of
       her hair, the muffled red coherence of head and torso, and perhaps
       too her lack of arms and legs. A penis is found anywhere in just
       such a lack of limbs; it's really amazing when it arrives

September 24, 1996 

       I love to watch a dick slamming in and out of a cunt or an
       asshole. The only way T.V. could enhance Wendy's is if it was
       confined to a showing non-stop hardcore pornography without sound.
       No ridiculous assertion of plot or personality. Just the real
       pleasure of lacking language. Just a reassuring view of the
       signifier itself and it finds its way to its ancient hiding place
       in broad daylight. 

October 3, 1996 

       I love being in a little girl's special place. That's how I look
       at Wendy's - it is no less than Wendy's special place, even if she
       has abandoned it, or been excluded from it, and even if it has
       been trespassed by countless strangers by now. If you sit still
       long enough, you realize you're deep inside a little girl's
       special place, and I don't care what the priests say - it feels

November 15, 1996 

       A beautiful woman with a Biggie. Nothing else - just a Biggie. She
       sat alone; she seemed like she was waiting for someone. What lucky
       soul could make a beautiful woman with a Biggie wait? Who has that
       kind of power? What person would a beautiful woman with a Biggie
       find attractive? Only one answer made sense to me: another
       beautiful woman with a Biggie. 

January 4, 1997 

       It's wonderful to think of meat sculpted to resemble a penis, but
       it's a different thing to actually have it on your plate. So long
       as it's an idea, you can lick it, kiss it, without feeling
       strange. Its actually being meat is something the idea seems
       incapable of entertaining. That is, while the idea allows for a
       wonderful semblance, it forever infuses the necessary biting and
       chewing with unnecessary sadness. 

February 8, 1997 

       Wendy, will you not even poke me? Not even a slow poke? I wonder
       why you treat me so. Am I a wooden board? Am I to be thought of as
       a simple wooden board? Come on, just give me a slow poke. I'm not
       a wooden board, honey. Come on, just poke me like you used to.
       Just a slow poke. Look into my eyes - are these the eyes of a
       wooden board? 

March 22, 1997 

       Today I ordered a hot wet pussy-dickhead shake with eyes and
       tongue. "We're all out," says the brave young employee. "You
       must've just run out," says I, "because I can still smell it."
       "Yep, just sold the last one," says the brave young employee. "Why
       don't you make more?" asks I. At this point the manager came over.
       "Is there a problem?" says he. "You're out of hot wet
       pussy-dickhead shakes," says I. 

March 26, 1997 

       Shall I put my penis on the counter? But what would it really
       accomplish? Would it change the world? Would it change me, or the
       attendant employees? No, no, and no. But should we judge an
       activity by whether or not it changes something? That would imply
       evolution as pre-determined and full of specific purpose. My penis
       on the counter is resistance; it demonstrates evolution's
       indeterminate willfulness. 

March 27, 1997 

       We shall swing by the Anal Ranch, pick up the Lord, and we shall
       have a Butt-Fuck Week-End. The Lord will have a Biggie but not a
       drop shall be spilled. Our faces will be dripping with hot cum and
       we shall notice the way muscle is. The Lord will be our Butt-Fuck
       Buddy and we will be the Butt-Fuck Buddies of the Lord. But do not
       touch the Lord's Biggie - not ever. 

June 3, 1997 

       I took my Frosty into the bathroom and sat it on the floor. I
       pulled my pants down, got down on all fours, and buried the tip of
       my cock in the cold brown swirl. Then I forced my cock and balls
       all the way into the cup, Frosty spilling on to the floor. Then I
       thought real sexy thoughts. My erection slowly forced more Frosty
       on to the floor. This is the real test of a drink's thickness. 

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