The Fall and Fall of the Arby's Empire: Or, How Roast Was My Valley; Or Bury My Heart at Big Montana; or A Tale Of Two Loaded Potato Bites; or War and Beef and Cheddar

A peculiar quirk of living out here in the lonesome, crowded west is the daily barrage of shit flyer mail I get, mostly coupons for fast food. Like Juvenile said in Baller Blockin, I'm out the game. And I aint no Corleone, they can't pull me back in. Especially when they offer shit like this from Arby's. Someone took these pictures and thought they looked good? Look at all these sandwiches, none of them look appetizing. Those mozz stixxx look like Wilfred Brimley's bowel movements. Eating the Roast Beef Choice will make the Grail Knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade appear to let you know you've chosen...poorly. There's an Arby's here in Santa Monica, I pass by it sometimes and I always see middle-aged men eating in there alone, no one's ever eating with other people. Like the bus station of the damned.
It's a sad end for chain that's been runnin on empty for more than decade.