McDonald's Staff at Asda, Bournemouth

You fucking lazy, moronic, pathetic, inbred cunts.
I know it's not exactly cutting edge comedy to point out how shit McDonald's staff are, but this lot really do deserve a mention for their services to fuckwittery.
I know that working in McDs is a pretty shit job - hard graft for crap money - but I am a firm believer that how you do the shit jobs is a great reflection on what you are like as a person and a professional, and an indication of how you will fare in any walk of life. Based on this philosophy, the current incumbents of the branch of McDonalds located in Asda, Bournemouth are destined for a good 40-odd year career of dribbling on their own piss-sodden genitals while picking peanuts out of their poo. You surly, stupid burger-flipping cunts.
I don't expect silver service. I don't even expect reasonable food. I expect shitty McDonalds, but when you've got up early and you've got a coach to catch, you sometimes have to undergo the kind of misery that only a McDonald's breakfast can force you to endure. SO IT WOULD BE NICE TO BE FUCKING ACKNOWLEDGED WHEN I APPROACH THE COUNTER. AT SOME POINT IN THE FIRST TEN FUCKING MINUTES. You fucking fucks.
Standing there with a slack-jawed thousand-yard stare while shuffling around gathering the various components of a McDonald's breakfast, they failed to smile, say hello, or generally display any kind of interest or enthusiasm for their customers. Now I hate all that fake 'have a nice day' crap as much as anyone else, but I'm talking the basics of human interaction here. Failure to make eye contact, communicating in monosyllabic grunts (literally, I'm not exaggerating this for effect) and just generaly doing the shittest job possible is a fine indication that you dumb motherfuckers have found your true calling, and can look forward to a lifetime of being shit at doing shit jobs.
Friday was a very special day. Friday saw the team leader working there - that's right, standing shoulder to shoulder with his workforce, showing them how it's done, working right at the front line of customer service. Or, as it happens, demonstrating an ability to drool on his own shirt coupled with an ability to forward plan bettered only by the bloke who thought that two rubber dinghies and a set of waterwings would suffice as lifesaving equipment aboard the Titanic.
This bloke was biblical. If you put a committee together and charged them with inventing the perfect moron, they'd come back with this man. Actually wandered round with his mouth open the whole time (SUCH a good look) and cooked every meal TO FUCKING ORDER. ITS A FAST FOOD RESTAURANT YOU CUNT. Queues formed. Oddly, of people who wanted to buy McDonald's most popular breakfast meals. It wasn't hard to figure out. Even better, he didn't take the next order until the first order had been fulfilled - whereupon he would often find the person wanted some, or all, of the same things as the first person. Having dispatched poor Olaf to cook in the kitchen (who wandered off with his knuckles scraping the floor; I'm sure that's unhygenic) our hero then stared into space and waited till the meal turned up before taking the next order.
He'd be great in a proper restaurant. 'Oh, sorry sir, I can't take your order until the other 26 tables have had their meals cooked. In order. I'll swing past your table again on Tuesday.'
What a shame you can't supersize their fucking IQ.