Perhaps that doesn't sound so appealing - but then again, you might like calamari, and who am I to judge? Not that there's anything so adventurous on offer; it's all fairly uncomplicated burgers. The greatest mental challenge is surmounting the fear of not being able to find a seat.
Although today was the first time I noticed the menu advertised the Burg-Egger, a combination of egg, burger, and a name that looks like it's an anagram of "buggerer". Which, on further thought, and notwithstanding a surplus G, it is.
I don't want to be made to think of buggery while I'm having dinner. I'm not sure I really want to think of such things at any time of the day, unless I'm watching Uncle Monty's misbehaviour in Withnail and I.
But perhaps this marks me out as a newly-minted prude.1 After all, I spent the best part of a year dining at Shake Em Buns, an establishment defined by the fact that everything had a scatalogically name, whether it was the Missionary Position, the Trojan (it's a hot dog) and me being made to say I'd like a Sissy Boy (I bet you would, boyo).
Then again, the late and unlamented Wimpy used to serve a Big Bender (fnarr fnarr), which isn't a bit of childish homophobia but a Cumberland sausage coiled in a bun, and I always turned my nose up at that.
No, I think the problem is that Triple O's is Canadian, and by definition too wholesome to associate itself with something as rough as buggery. They should have Mounties and maple syrup and geese and ... and... huge beavers?
About then, I was stopped in my thoughts by the arrival of a teenage boy strumming a miniature acoustic guitar, and twelve girls who looked like they were on their day off from an evangelical retreat. I scarfed down my non-buggery burger2 and retreated.
1 Mmm. Prunes.
2 Veggie, with cheese, thanks for asking, although the cheese was probably a mistake on my part.
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