I'm Lovin' It

Okay, I have to post this. It's too good. It's from my friend Shannon, who lives in NYC. She posted it yesterday elsewhere online, but I wanted to make sure everyone else got a chance to see it. Check it out.

I'm Lovin' It
"I'm going to Mc Donalds and if you don't like it fuck off. i'm gonna eat a fuckin double-whopper-big-mac-crispy-fish-chicken-of-theday-piece of shit hangin out of my mouth-greasy fake cow guts chin and playdo fries . and nobody can stop me. HUSH! shhhhhhhh. dont say a word. i'm gonna get a rock hard apple pie and chase it with orange drink like we used to have at t ball games. i'm gonna pour the whole tank over my body of suffering arteries as the hopeless and sad unaccomplished 65 year old indian people behind the service counter send the little retarted boy to clean up the sticky swamp of orange glowing goober and crusty french fry mess of puke from the sorry corner table i will sit and swap war stories over coffeee with the man with the eye patch and smelly lady who takes no sugar but half milk. and then i'll fuckin smack one of those little thug kids who hangs out after school and cant ever seems to make it home because mommy and daddy forgot to use a condom when they unfortunately bred the little heathen into existence. i'll smack him with a french fry, or a dollar bill as he begs for it as i make a hasty and embarressed exit out the doorway to gluttonous america world and the 6 o clock sun shines on my pale white chicken skin."

I posted this earlier today and received such a high number of overwhelming responses to my rant, that i feel it is neccessary to brief you all, my friends, on the actual events which occured following my "Mickey D's" craving on Monday April the 11th 2005 at 5:38 pm. Here goes. stay with me people, its simply an addition to my ongoing analyzation of myself, the "odd" one who exists in this "normal" world. I think we may be onto something, and we can recognize the following as a major breakthrough in the successes of my newfound experimentation known as "life: i see you":::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Making my way toward 31st street in Astoria on that evening, i squinted at the beaming sun in the clear blue sky as my pace evolved into a strut of confidence to the tune of "more than this" by Roxy Music blaring into my small and fragile eardrums. I had just notified jeff that the mission was now underway, and i had begun my journey toward the golden arches. Anxieties began to arise in the back of my mind as i sent two final text messages, and i stood in front of the glass store front, underneath the pigeons pooing above my head from the elevated train platform i would stall beneath. One message: to jeff and johnny, "i'm goin in". And wouldn't you guess? they did not stop me. trustworthy friends whose opinions i cherish, they each sent me a silent text of luck in my endeavor, as i waltzed into the wood-grain paneled zoo of meat and cheese.

First sight: a line, of at least 15 people. Old people, young people, little rats carrying balloons from a birthday party being held on the lower level. the smell of sweat and blood and dirty homeless people scavenging for salty fry bits permeated the air. it was enough of a scene for any self respecting individual to pull out a previously concealed uzi and gun the sorry corner of society out of its hopeless misery. but not i. i apparently had not recently weighed my self respect, because i was going in for the kill. I joined the line.

I tried to ignore what was passing on around me. all of my predictions were true. Old indian lady behind register- check. 25 employees behind counter salting one bag of french fries and one open register (run by non english speaking old indian lady) check. hoodlums with basketballs scraping pockets for change to buy big macs- check. retarded man mopping floor with shit smelling mop near ketchup and napkin stand- check. man standing NEXT TO ME as if there are two lines when all 50 of us waiting for our slow grease bomb playdo burger deaths have already formed single file! Bastard. Business man in front of me. 5 employees stuggling to carry 2 plates each of kiddie birthday cake down the stairs to what must be an even smellier disgusting dungeon of playland (that some MORON booked a party for their poor later to be really really ignorant as an adult if they even make it there life child), when every nite i carry like 5 martini stems at once through a CROWDED SPORTS BAR. but they needed 15 hands i guess, so what the heck. - check.

And then it happened. i did it. the man tried to step up to the reg before me (mr. 2nd line formation, that is), and i blocked his shit. straight up. i defended my place in line. It was like it occured in slow motion, as the words escaped my lips, my mind pitied my sad moment of existence in which i was actually trying to get MY mcdonalds crap feed on before some other sad individual. But the deed was done, and i quickly cut the man off "there's only one line sir...." (slow motion, defending my team of followers filed behind me). And like any jerk, i had no idea what i even wanted when i got to the counter. after all, it all tastes like throw up, right?

So i chose the ..9 (filet of fish ( pretty safe actually in my opinion) and in a fit of filthy "there is no way this is going to feel okay once you engage in what you are about to do" (like everytime i have ever smoked pot in my life, when i know i shouldn't do it because it makes me CRAZY paranoid and sick and i NEVER have fun doin it, but always try it again once in a while to see if i still have a miserable reaction to it...), i order the dreaded cheeseburger, straight up. and as the cashier plops down my burger like a fat lady landing on the left end of a piano and my total pops up on the little black screen in front of me, i interrupt the cash transaction ( all one dollar bills of course) to order a glimmer of my childhood on plymouth road with my nana; hot fudge sundae.

So i scrape out the extra dollar and pay as i get my change back and drop the 32 cents or whatever into the ronald mcdonald house-shaped bucket to my left as the hefty man i cut off approaches the counter and orders something that resembles what lies before me on my ugly brown tray. i dont get napkins (thats what sleeves are for) but i pump my ketchup sludge into the crappy too tiny paper cup waste of tree so i can dip my french fries.

Then i have to find a seat. i'm at a mcdonalds in queens, people. its alot like an average mcdonalds. you have your regulars of course, the coffee slurping oldies of whom i spoke before, and the lunatic hooligans in really long tshirts that go beyond their knees and wrinkle beneath their nike shoe purchase "backpacks" that they carry their guns and drugs in. i don't want to sit next to them, but like a moron, i chose "to stay" rather than "to go". a bunch of old greek people hover in the corner. they look as though they are dressed from a funeral earlier that day. they probably are. "poor spiro's wife" i imagine them muttering over their empty table tops. don't want to go there either. a woman with her small children looks distressed as she searches for a spot as well, and i choose a dirty booth in front of the garbage can. its a better choice than the ugly sagging faced women sitting at my view to the left, or the old crusty man sitting in front of me with eighteen sugar packet coffee who cant help but stare at me. i watch 2 young couples around my age walk in the door and then retreat as they giggle about what they almost ate if they had made it twelve paces further. i feel sick. i havent even touched my food yet. i'm half plugging my nose from the stench of my fellow human beings as the man creepily stares and the two ugly women fail to communicate with one another over their dinner. clearly, all of these ghouls are "lovin' it", and i am about to as well as i bite into the filet of fish.

The first sandwich goes down nicely. it had been housed in a strangely retro looking blue box. i admire the design of the container. simple-looking. i swig my dr. pepper and munch on some fries as my dessert melts before me. "gotta eat fast before dessert melts" i chant in my mind. then i reach for the 100% beef cheeseburger before me. (thats what the paper wrapping says, although it does not describe what TYPE of beef, i suppose we are ignorant enough as humans to find some sort of solas in the fact that it is beef, and yes, 100%...eeewwwgh) Great, beef sounds good. I take a bite and i tastes like drunken homeless pee pant puke. i take another bite and scrape away some of the never meant to be melted cheese from the edge of the round breaded disc in my hand. i stare at it. the man stares at me. the scene is making me feel disgusting, the thug kids begin trashing their garbage in the can beind me as the back of my booth clangs and rumbles from their inability to make it in the container in first, second, fifth try. eventually they do. and then as they leave, a store employee begins changing the trash.

As i try to shove the poo like food into my mouth, i give up. i stall. i hang my head in sorrow. i will absolutely become ill if i take one more bite. i cant even afford to counteract the sandwich with a fry. i collect my belongings and drop at least 3/4ths of my would be "meal" into the garbage. i do take the sundae. this is how it always ends, i should have known better. as i turn to silently assess the carnage i had just experienced, a smelly homeless man enters the restaurant. i pat my self on the back for my good timing, and as i walk up the steps to the train platform, i have two scoops of dessert and toss the cup in the trash.

I sent jeff a mission accomplished notice, and he texts me back "do you feel bloated". yes jeff, i do. and it is 12 hours later and i still do. damn you ronald mcdonald. damn YOU! and of course, when the timing is right again someday- i will fulfill my craving once again. but for the moment- i will tell myself that i am never going near that shit hole again.

Understanding Shannon's perspective and reasons for this odyssey may be difficult for some of you. See, for us carnivores who are enlightened members of society, we have to deal with persecution by our vegetarian and vegan friends. I'm not saying that all 'veggies' are political about their choice of diet, but many are. We also understand and acknowledge that McDeath is bad for us and the world as a whole. But...sometimes you just gotta have that slimey, greasy crap. We always regret it later, but if it's actually hot and fresh, and if the experience of getting the grease bombs isn't too bad, it's worth it at the time. I can't explain it, it's just one of those weird things that people do.