The Eye of Moron

Exhibit A: What we see here is the facial hair equivalent of what Vaudeville used to remove bad acts from the stage. Where this one differs in representation instead of application is, alas, a distinct lack of modern day Vaudeville-- with the somewhat tarnished exception of Old Country Buffet.

Behold: a mountain of corn and riblet studded mashedcaroni and cheese potatoes, resentfully monikered “Mount Consume”, whereupon rests a triple drumstick king with a clucked up crown of pizza pepperoni.

Three plates for the elderly coots under the weather,
Seven for the fat bastards with bowling ball moobs,
Nine for the children of men doomed to dine,
One for Guy Fieri and his peroxidized hairy.
In the old country of Buffet where we're all porcine.
One buffet to rule them all, one buffet defines them,
One buffet to call and nether gravy falls recline them,
In the old country of Buffet where we're all porcine.

The man above, who referred to himself in third person as Boroweird, had only this to say:

"One does not simply walk out of Old Country Buffet. Its cobblers are gilded with more than just apples and cinnamon. There is a menu there that never leaves and the great prime ribeye is ever tasteful. It is a gastroenterological playland, riddled with meat and starch and cheese, the very air you breathe is an aromatic plume. Not with ten thousand Hoverounds could you do this. It is folly."

His hot sauce stained tee proclaimed him "Lord of the Wings".