I usually don’t write about politics. Or things that have been beat to death in the media. Or things in politics that have been beat to death in the media. Or religion. Or religious things that have . . . you get the idea. Actually, I usually only write about things that affect me personally. Very egocentric writing. I’m an only child.

And this has affected me personally. Mainly, my chicken sandwich. I like Dick-fil-a’s chicken sandwich. Spread on two packets of mayonnaise, get a couple extra pickles thrown on there, and boom, you’re in business. The only problem I’ve ever had with Dick-fil-a was based on my inability to remember things. They’re closed on Sundays. I know this. I’ve known this for years. But I will still occasionally turn my car in that direction on a Sunday. And when I get close by, I think dammit! Why did I do this again? I mumbled to myself, half joking, half not, “Crazy Fundamentalists.” This was long before the newest debacle. How many other chains deny me my nasty, eating-out habits on Sunday? I can’t think of any. Look, just hire atheists to work on Sundays. It’s that simple.

And politics really shouldn’t squirm its way between my buttery buns. As a matter of fact, no views from owners or CEOs should ever affect what you eat. If it did, you wouldn’t eat anywhere. Have you ever spent time around or read articles on people who are billionaire heads of companies? Read Jon Ronson’s The Psychopath Test and tell me you disagree with the findings. Most of these people, Steve Jobs included, probably belong in a special ward with padded walls. Know an outlier who defies the rule? Let me know. Most of the superrich are disconnected from society and the day to day grind. For that fact, and you can see this on the Boob Tube, most of them are disconnected from reality. They are lunatics, and if they succeed at what they are doing, we laud them and call them eccentric. You catch your boss staring in a mirror while practicing how to be intimidating, and he’s just a prick.

So when I hear that the owner of Dick-fil-a really is a tight-ass fundamentalist, I’m suddenly torn. He doesn’t just passively extol himself for being self-righteous like most of them, he gives money to people who are trying to do away with people’s rights. That puts him in the political arena. That puts his company in the political arena. This has nothing to do, by the way, with free speech. He was free to open his big, Southern Baptist mouth, and insert his sanctimonious foot. If you are surfing that warped metaphor of subliminal bizzaro anti-logical schizophrenic reasoning, I don’t know what to tell you, except maybe, go back and get your GED.

If I go get a sandwich, am I saying what he did was okay? Am I saying I’m on his side? No. But I am contributing, ever so slightly, to his massive stacks of Holier-than-thou money, which will then be used to make the world a little less diverse. A little narrower in its views. A little less tolerant.

So how bad do I want that sumptuous chicken, tender yet crispy, resting delicately on a perfectly toasted bun? I’m fat, so I can’t promise you anything. But if I do give in, you can bet that while I’m washing it down, I’ll be mumbling to my hypocritical self, “Crazy Fundamentalists.”