I took too long to provide the conclusion to the weekend trip we made to Joel and Kate’s rented camp, and as a result I have since forgotten everything that happened. The end!
On to other matters: health! Annie and I are trying to make better mealtime choices, because we are fatasses who eat shit. I myself have gained over twenty pounds in the past four months. This is impressive from a “boy, that’s gross” standpoint, but not from many others. I could pin my chunkiness on my infant son, given that he is four months old, and caring for him requires a great deal of remaining indoors and eating whatever happens to be at hand, but that isn’t terribly fair. He has nothing to gain from a fat dad. In the end, the finger of blame must be directed at Mr. Ronald McDonald, for offering such delicious foods at such affordable prices.
Jesus, just look at him. Jumping around like a cockamamie jackanapes. Peddling circular, ineptly prepared cross-sections of mistreated bovine carcass, limp salads laden with greying bird dermis, fried beaks dipped in dank jam, tubs of sugar water at 2000% markup, Filet O’ Fish…he truly is a terrible man, and a clown besides. We forget that he’s a clown, I think.
I like McDonald’s food. I like that I can get in my car, drive to McDonald’s, hand a couple of bucks to a loser, and get a cheeseburger out of the deal. I didn’t have to make it, expenditure as regards both money and effort were minimal, and the entire affair can be wadded up into a giant, fleshwater-sopped garbage ball and wedged into the trashcan when all is said and done. Everything about it is easy and even somewhat enjoyable. The trip there is exciting because you’re thinking about food that you will get to eat soon. The selection process is suspenseful because what if your brain suddenly tells your mouth to order a snack wrap when you thought you were about to order chicken nuggets? Receiving the food is very gratifying and fulfilling; the hot, overstuffed bag sending warm steam to your hand and nice smells to your nose. You receive a nice ego boost in the act of demanding that the geek at the window go get you another sweet and sour sauce, because you’re gonna need one for your fries. You can start drinking your Powerade on the way back home, and the two or three fries you sneak out of the bag are for some reason as good as food can possibly taste, especially if they’re hot, which they usually seem to be. Maybe the traffic is bad, but you barely notice because you have a hot bag of McDonald’s in your car, desperate to be torn open and plundered.
You get home, make yourself comfortable on the couch, find a good background show on TV that provides pleasing images, and carefully unload each component of the meal. Cartons, wrappers, little pouches and sleeves, all of it smelling exactly like McDonald’s, which is encouraging because it tastes exactly like it smells. You have a bite of cheeseburger, a couple fries, a nugget, more burger, drink, fries, nugget, burger, fries, drink, nugget, another nugget, fries, drink, rest of burger, drink, fries, nugget, nugget, fries, drink, nugget, fries. You slow down, sit back with your drink. You watch some of the show. Cool down with the nice drink. Feeling full. Nugget. You consider more fries, but it doesn’t sound good enough to bother. You dump the remaining fries back into the McDonald’s bag. Can’t throw out nuggets, though. Drink. Try to focus on show to take mind off rock in guts. Experience gas expulsion anomaly wherein no relief is attained. Nugget nugget in rapid succession. Close eyes and chew, seeing stars and feeling dizzy. Collapse on couch. Finish drink.
A not altogether unpleasant lazy stupor informs the rest of your evening. Your basic needs have been met in a matter of minutes, and while there may come a point during your next bowel movement when you seriously begin to regret never having made out a will, at least you didn’t have to cook. That’s the important thing.
It all has to stop, whether we want it to or not. We feel and look like crap, and won’t be any good to anyone if we don’t step our game up a little. McDonald’s can go take a hike! In fact, that is good advice for McDonald’s. Hiking is healthy.
There you go, friends! You can print out that picture of a hiking man and color it whatever color you want! Credit my newfound health for this spontaneous display of generosity! I’m going to go make a millet sandwich now and eat it while thinking about death. Further health-attempt bulletins will follow!