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Supposedly this is the omelet bar at Fuckface's rat-infested Florida shithole -- you know, the one he went to right after declaring a national emergency. Maybe the real emergency is the idea of putting ketchup on an omelet, which you know is a thing he does, at least when they've run out of Mrs. Butterworth.
But yeah, this is so fucking perfect, it's just about impossible to parody. It's basically what a comedy writer would have rejected for being too on-the-nose. I love it, the whole thing -- the chintzy furniture and tacky, ancient carpet; the omelet bar that looks like it was stolen from a hunting lodge; the ketchup bottles (again); the poster of Trump behind the hapless server (apparently this was from a -- get this -- fitness campaign partnered with Walgreen's, which involved Celebrity Apprentice pedometers, from a guy who takes a golf cart to the bathroom). The place looks like an airport food court. There's probably a filthy Sbarro's just out of the shot, with a fake Time cover of him on its wall.
Anyone spending tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars to be within a hundred miles of this dump:
- deserves to get taken for every cent;
- didn't work nearly hard enough for it;
- needs to get taxed at a 120% rate.