It was like a golden age of kids’ TV in hindsight.
Where we lived on Long Island, there were no chain restaurants allowed and (IIRC) Roy Rogers was the closest one. The French fry containers were printed to look like gun holsters, and had slots cut in them through which one could thread their belt.
See also: Godfather’s Pizza. They watched us like hawks. Friend had to resort to cramming a whole fistful of food into his mouth at once. It’s as though someone else before us had tried to get away with it.
