Kleptoburger

Enter Kleptoburger: it's dusty, perhaps it's an old Victorian mansion, perhaps it's a half-burned-down youth hostel, or perhaps it looks just like a normal fast-food restaurant. You look around in hunger. In the case of the Victorian mansion, there's nothing but gray old furniture. You're looking for something to pilfer, you worthless thief;--but there's nothing worth grabbing. But wait! Sitting pleasantly on a yellow plate is a piping hot hamburger with all the trimmings; a mound of sizzling-hot fries; and a cheerful, sugary cola. You look around. There is no one to prevent you from running with the goods,--or partaking sur-le-champ. You do so, congratulating yourself on "getting away with it." Little do you suspect that your credit card has been scanned on your way out the creaky door. No card? No problem. A man in a trenchcoat duns you mercilessly chez tois for $10.95.

The food? Pas mal.