BEHOLD! TEMPTATION!

They say that confession is good for the soul although it’s not my soul being harmed by this particular sin for which I must confess. And forgive me, dear blog reader, for I have sinned.

Since it has come once more amongst us, I have partaken of the McRib.

Twice.

In previous posts, I have made my feelings known on the subject of fast food and especially that of McDonald’s which serves, as I like to call it, McMatter. Really, it may look like hamburger or chicken or fish but deep down in the chemical DNA of whatever it is you’re holding, don’t you just know it’s all really the same stuff? And nowhere is that more obvious than in the McRib.

In case you don’t know (and the good Lord bless you for your innocence), the McRib is a slab of pork-ish meat slathered in BBQ sauce like blood painted over the doors of the Jews during the first Passover and sprinkled with onions and pickles like fairy dust on a unicorn, all between a hoagie roll that can barely contain the magnificent bastard of a mess.

Oh my GOD! It is so GOOD!!!

<ahem!>

Sorry.

Anyway, I used to live for the McRib when I was a younger man but now I’m twice the man I used to be thanks to eating stuff like the McRib. I’m also, I would like to think, a wiser man. It’s bad enough to be put other questionable McMatter sandwiches inside my person but the mystery of the McRib pushes even my very flexible definitions of what I call “food”. Here’s what I know is NOT in the McRib: rib meat. Whatever animal’s carcass provides the meat for the McRib which may be at least distantly related to something in the pig family, it’s not coming from rib meat. I sometimes wonder in horror that poor beasts that provide the basic substance of McMatter are in fact born boneless blobs of meat like material of protoplasmic consistency.

But…

Oh my GOD! It is so GOOD!!!

<ahem!>

Once more, I must apologize.

This is why it’s important to NOT think about the McRib. It is a temptation born of Satan’s hind quarters, reprehensible yet alluring. So I tried to be good. I tried to avoid the evil sway of the McRib.

Then one day I was in the drive through at McDonald’s. Why? Because two conditions had been met: my family was hungry and we didn’t give a f**k where we ate. So, ipso facto, we’re at McDonald’s. And it was this fateful day that I saw the sign. Just two words. Two simple words.

BEHOLD. MCRIB.

Yes, in my mind I know that the McRib is a spawn of Hell but at that moment, light flowed down from angels of heaven as they sang their glorious song:

BEHOLD! MCRIB!

Yes! Yes! YES! YES! I behold it! Oh dear sweet mother of God, I BEHOLD it!

A moment later, I sit before box smeared with the tangy brown blood of a BBQ demigod and a sinking feeling that I had done a very, very bad thing.

I swore an oath on the sacred texts of the Harry Potter series and the holy untampered schism of the Time Vortex on Gallifrey that I would never debase myself in such a terrible and-

DAMMIT! I ATE A SECOND MCRIB!!

It… it’s that SIGN! That damnable sign!

BEHOLD. MCRIB.

Yes, I do behold. Damn you and your unnatural tasty sinfulness, I do damn well behold.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, I do tell them to hold the pickles.

Hey, we’re not barbarians!

And I’m so glad my suffering amuses you.   

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By the way, if you really don't give a damn about what you want to eat but need an alternative to McDonald's, I may have found a place.

This speaks to me. I want to go to there. 
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