The Burger House built in Amityville

I delayed and stalled, denied my availability, and abstained from attending the Wednesday night burger experience for three weeks straight. I should have made up another excuse to avoid the Burger House burger exploit, but “I will go next week” lost its charm on my fellow burgermates. And how could I muster an excuse when they altered the schedule to accommodate my lazy a__.
First I must preface this review by saying that I have a wheat allergy. Although certain individuals, whom shall remain nameless, do not believe me, and welcome the opportunity to impale me in the chest, a la Pulp Fiction, with my epi-pen, this rare and (often) deadly allergy prevents me from indulging in any bread-related bun products. Therefore, all my burger reviews will be bun-less. For that I am sorry. (At least they are not meatless).
The energy in Burger House was lack luster. The decor nondescript. I ordered an Old Fashioned or a Mary Mary quite contrary naked with a fries and a coke. I should have paid more heed to the stigmata that revealed itself and warned of a cursed burger experience, but I did not. First, Satan taunted me on my reciept, with his $6.66 mark. Then, when I poured my coke from the fountain, a brownish, blood colored liquid curdled from the tap. It tasted like seltzer, but I knew the devil was near. Laughing as she prepared her toxic, odorless disk wedges. She knew I would not resist. Finally, while waiting outside in the dismally (rare) cloudy afternoon, the rattle of a death metal siren farted my order on the bullhorn. Like bullets sputtering, flailing and drowning a name, apparently mine. The disk they served me was bland, even with salt, ketchup, lettuce and tomato. The fries were over peppered and the coke (post fountain repair) was barely consumable... I didn’t even return for my obligated free refill. The only thing I can say positively about Burger House was the company I kept. There is safety from the devil in numbers. We laughed in the face of these artery clogging death disks and their textured blandness, and lived to tell this tall tale.
I can not and will not recommend Burger House because the only thing good about it (the company) is on to another venue, continuing the search for Austin’s Best Burger.
Sincerely,
Oprah