If you are looking at the above picture and acting like that sandwich isn’t absolutely delicious, you a) have no eyes, b) are a liar, and most importantly c) are an idiot. The Big Mac is what God made on the 8th day.
I haven’t fuxed with McDonald’s in three weeks since my personal new year but I was under siege the other afternoon. I’m taking some heat for some shit going sideways at my day job. As always I blame myself and the time I spend in this world. That isn’t totally fair to me since the shit I am getting blamed for was out of my control. I was under pressure and I caved in.
You ever seek food to comfort you when you need a little reassurance that you aren’t the piece of shit your mind is telling you that you are? By my look you might think I have been consulting food more often than my therapist. You would be right. What could one Big Mac meal hurt anyway? Well one Big Mac meal and one Big Mac sandwich on the side to be 100 with y’all.
The meal was so underwhelming I was even more frustrated after finishing it. Plus some homeless lady did a lap through the McD and blew that shit up. The only thing that kept me from vomiting after inhaling her unholy bumstink was the special sauce that had smeared on my moustache. If I could focus on that smell I would be able to withstand the muscle reflex to blow chunks. What a fucked the fux up meal?!
So now I am back to square one and the count is back to three days (c)lean, down from 3 weeks. I’ve been to drug rehab so I know all the affirmations and mantras you have to invoke after falling off the wagon. I’m not as concerned any longer with falling into McD any longer and I was more sad than ashamed by the fact that the Big Mac could no longer activate my pleasure/reward center. This is how people end up addicted to heroin. That’s the only thing that can get me higher than special sauce.
