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Diary of a Wimpy Man

Words by Spencer Dickson      Art by Matt Manfull
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Yo, I been eatin burgers for about 85 years, man. I mean straight hamburgers for like 29,000 days. Nuthin fancy, just burgers, bro—white bun, single patty, two pickles and a lil French’s yellow. None of this avocado horseradish shazz. No sesame seeds. No cheese. And I don’t do bacon. If it’s got a cloven hoof, get it outta my face—I ain’t eatin no even-toed ungulate no matter how flavorful, dig?


But check this out: I’m worried about my homies, fam. I mean, have you seen what inflation has done to the price of a burger? It’s totally wack. Listen, I don’t care cuz imma get my patty on regardless, know what I’m sayin, but it’s my homies I’m trippin bout. You know I ain’t paid for my own burgers for like 83 years? It’s a fact, jack.


A little background here. I, J. Wellington Wimpy (call me Jay Dub Dub), pioneered the concept of burgers by credit (BBC). By now you prolly heard my flow: “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.” Look, I ain’t gonna front—I’ve had a helluva ride on the back of that shazz. But the cats down at Equifax have a file on me the size of a Dave’s Duodecuple at Wendy’s—that’s strictly secret menu fodder, fam. Anyways, my available lines of credit are like one of those nasty-azz onions you get at the lesser burger establishments—i.e., they bout to get chopped.


What’s worse, y’all, is tomorrow be Tuesday. I always get a lil jittery on Monday nights—nuthin a few sliders can’t calm. But you know I hate Tuesdays. So lemme come correct: I won’t gladly pay nobody for last Saturday’s (or Friday’s or Thursday’s) hamburger, know what I mean? I just ain’t gonna do it. And straight up, my homies ain’t what they used to be. In times like these, you find out who your real friends are.


Which is why I need YOU. I got a habit, y’know? How bout a lil support? Listen, do me a solid: I kinda can’t be seen at no burger joints tomorrow, bro. Just bring me seven or eight burgers to that park bench over there. I ain’t picky—they can even be the dollar kind. I just gotta get to Wednesday, man—and I ain’t gonna eat no beef wellington.

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