So there I was.
I was sitting in my cube at work and it was about 3:26…maybe 3:28 but I don’t want to make this sound too outlandish, so we’ll stick with 3:26. Anywho, there I am thinking about how flippin’ hungry I am, right. We’ve all been there. You’re just hanging out staring blankly off into space with low gurgling noises coming from your somewhere deep in your guttural region.
Well that was me. Imagine me in some sort of haze staring at a picture of a sailboat I have taped to my computer. Are you picturing it? I know I am. Anyway…so there I am staring at the sailboat and it hits me like a dead-beat foster parent…right across the face with a frozen lamb-chop and three little words come trickling into my head like water from a stream in the spring…or urine from an old man’s prostate.
It was slow, steady, deliberate and with purpose…
That’s right, Mickey-D’s baby! I don’t know why. I don’t know what brought it up.
Maybe somewhere deep in the back of my subconscious I was associating Johnny Depp’s “Pirates” franchise with one of the many companies that will undoubtedly prostitute itself for the rights to plaster his mascara covered face all over cups, bags, burger wrappers and everything in between later this summer. Yeah, that makes sense or perhaps I just pictured our ancestors floating across the Atlantic (or Pacific depending on who’s reading this) and arriving in America full of vigor and enthusiasm for a new life, only to find themselves flipping burgers at Ye’ Old Mickey-D’s for the rich Puritan mofos who had enslaved them.
Either way, there it was deep in my carnal desire…McRib. McRib. McRib. McRib. McRib. McRib…it was some sort of creepy cult-like chant within me and it began drawing stares from the other cubes. So I tried to calm it by thinking of things that rob my appetite like Carrot Top, Paris Hilton or Jerry Klein’s Christmas decorations. For a few moments there was peace, both in my guts and in the shared, clandestine work space that is the library support staff offices.
I immediately went online with a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe McDonald’s had chosen today January 9, 2007 to be the day the McRib returns to the menu full-time. No such luck. Instead as it turns out there are numerous websites all eerily dedicated to the McRib, which honestly, frightened me enough to close Google and proceed directly to the McDonald’s online menu, on the way, however, I ran into an option which allows a person to check the nutrition facts of a meal at McDonald’s.
This is where I should have turned off the computer and left, but I thought to myself. “This could be interesting…I wonder what my meal would look.”
This…this right here is what it looked like…
I don’t know about you, but I think I just had a McStroke. I was waiting for Ronald to give me a direct phone call and be like “Come on brother, you’ve got so much to live for…just lay off this shit!” But there was no call from my red-haired friend. Instead, for some ungodly reason, there was an overwhelming desire to go to McDonalds and eat the entire gluttonous meal that I’d just learned could kill an adult camel in one sitting.
It was the same McUrge I felt running through my body at the end of Super-Size me when I turned to Tricia and Grace and said…“Man, I could really go for a double-cheeseburger!”
I logged off my computer, grabbed my coat and bolted for the door and let my stomach lead me to the dirty, dirty McSinful Bliss.
I ate it. I ate all of it.
…I think I hate myself.
So does my gallbladder