Tim Hortons

This is a small self serve coffee located within an Esso gas station.
Now I know what it feels like to work at Timmies when I get to pour my own coffee! LOL!

Seinfeld may have been cancelled, but the Soup Nazi lives on in Toronto, only this time instead of soup, he closely guards access to donuts. If you don’t have cash or a Mastercard, no donut for you!
Seriously, who the hell carries a Mastercard? You can’t buy a freaking donut with a Visa in Canada. This isn’t 1978, nobody carries cash and nobody has a Mastercard anymore. I honestly didn’t even know they were in business anymore.
And while I’m at it, what’s the deal with Canada’s gas stations? If it’s 30 below and you need to get gas, you have to stand out there and hold the gas handle the entire time. Apparently, someone decided there might be a slim chance that you could generate enough static electricity rubbing your boots on your floormat to send a spark that could ignite your gas tank while you pump your gas.
Nevermind that it’s never happened. Let’s make a country of 26 million people with one of the coldest climates of any industrialized nation on Earth freeze their moose-​riding, donut-​munching (assuming they have a Mastercard) asses off while they fill their tanks. Yeah, I’m sure that the hundreds of cases of frostbite and the old people freezing to death are worth it just to potentially spare the life of the one jittery dipshit (who obviously should switch to Tim Horton’s decaf) who managed to generate enough of an electric spark to blow himself to hydrocarbon-​scorched smithereens.
I recently heard that you’re also not allowed to take a PB&J to school anymore. Seriously? So because some freak might have a peanut allergy, you’re going to make every parent of every kid in every school forget about what is probably the healthiest thing that ever hits their kids’ lunch bag? Wouldn’t it be a better idea to let the normal kids be normal kids and send the peanut allergy kids to a colony on the coast of a secluded Hawaiian island so they could get an education, grow up, marry, settle down and make soynut butter and jelly sandwiches for their little tikes?
But I digress. I still love Canada. You’re America’s conscience. You broadcast Leafs games in Hindi. You support your troops in wars that you oppose, and you shun anyone who doesn’t. You so openly welcome immigrants that I can get tasty ethnic food from a trailer in a parking lot at midnight when it’s 20 below (which is either 120 or –60 Celsius — I can never remember how to calculate your metric system mumbo-​jumbo).
And you name your national institution — the thing that truly defines what it is to be Canadian — after a hockey player. I love it.
But Krispy Cream blows Tim Horton’s out of the water.