Shame on You, Mayor McCheese!
The much blogged about, Billy D., finally gets to speak for himself in this tale of betrayal and revolution that marks his first contribution to our site!
Shame on you, Mayor McCheese! Shame on you! I know you are a puppet to that big, over-hyped clown, Ronald McDonald, but you don’t have to be. For once, grow a pair. Stand up to the broken political system that is the McDonaldland oligarchy. Help me Mayor McCheese! You’re my only hope!
Let me start by saying that I am the guy that still admits to eating McDonald’s. I truly like it. When properly executed, you cannot help but feel satisfied with the fried feast that smells up my car and clothes instantly. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, I can drive up with a couple of chilled double deuces freshly purchased from the carry out and dismantle a large value meal. I sit in the parking lot consuming a Big Mac, fries and beer thinking how the suckers in the world are getting robbed by over-priced, calorie-packed Panera across the way. Those douche nozzles aren’t even enjoying it.
All is not perfect, though, in Mayor McCheese’s McDonaldland. The consistency and simplicity executed in most McDonald’s product offerings has been tainted by one giant failure – the failure of the Chicken McNugget.
I know most of you grew up in the world infested with chicken fingers, chicken nuggets, chicken strips, even the oddly placed chicken balls. This was sadly not the case years ago. When I was a young lad your only food options were the hotdog/hamburger plate. If you had asked for chicken fingers there was no telling what would arrive.
Then along came Ronald McDonald and his glorious McNugget to change the world. I cannot remember the first time I ate these wonderful fused-chicken pieces. In fact, I think I was so wrapped in ecstasy that my mind is incapable of revisiting this three-minute pleasure window. They moved to the top of my McDonald’s consumption scale. Six piece? Sure I could use a snack. A ten piece? Cool, appetizers. Twenty piece? Simply heaven.
Apparently the clown thought I had flown too close to the sun because one random day all the glory disappeared. One day the clown, with the approval of that putz Mayor McCheese, he changed the McNugget recipe. They played a shell game with us saying they were making them better. They said “Now Made With White Meat,” whatever that meant. I can tell you what they don’t make them with, love. And if that panzy, McCheese ever tasted one, he would have shut it down. Instead he gave in to the clown’s madness. “Sure Ronald, change the McNuggets. I don’t care as long as we get more chicks? Girls? Chicken … in there.”
Sadly, I did not give up after one failed try. I kept firing the ordering gun for these new McNuggets, that alas, always failed in satisfaction. After several years of bad McDonald’s chicken I am a wounded man. Like an addict, I keep going back to relive the crack high of the original golden chicken – going back hoping that, this day, the McNuggets will once again be culinary ecstasy. But now, after several years, I know the dream is dead – knowing that in the end, they took away my food bliss.
So it all falls back on you, McCheese. No food experiment has ever gone this bad for the golden arches, and someone has to pay. The worst part is knowing that McCheese sits on the good McNugget recipe in the McDonaldland safe. My only solace is waiting for the people’s inevitable revolt, during which McCheese will be jailed. People have gone to jail for much less then this taste disaster.
I know that I cannot be held responsible for my actions if I ever met this man. I know this sounds bad, but I wish pain on him. I could not be trusted if I was the prison guard watching Mayor McCheese’s cell in gen pop. I would have no qualms turning my back on a smiling Hamburglar hiding in the Mayor’s cell licking a spoon. See you in Hell McCheese! You’ll know you’re there by the taste of the chicken.
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