Mcshit

Man, what choices does I have? I ain't workin' for no goddamn McShit burgers, flipping hamburgers 'n shit like that there. Fuck dat.

You want fries with your McShit?

When I walked by later I saw a window had been smashed and on the plywood patching the hole someone had spray-painted the words “McShit Meat is Murder.”

That's probably what Mr. McShit needs, too. A good reaming out.

Robby was the barman at McShit's, a pub owned unsurprisingly by McShit, the crippled Twist who ran the inner world of the Rigs and who'd risked his livelihood and life by helping Morag and I escape.