Church of Hell

I may sound like a grumpy, cynical bastard but I’m not. I’m a grumpy, cynical misanthrope. My parents were married, and I’m more sociopath than you may have thought.
I may complain a lot, but I am a genuinely happy person in real life much of the time, usually when I’m complaining. I would be slightly frightened by the amount of raving that I do if it weren’t for the support I get from apparently sane people and the amount of similar complaints that spew from others who seem more stable and publicly accepted than me.
So, as I begin to complain about another aspect of our mostly enfeebled, ignorant and corrupt society and the dung filled flesh balloons that populate it, I will simply state, I am most definitely not “Lovin’ it”.

McDonalds used to hold a special place in my heart, but gone are the days where I would throw pounds of greasy meat and deep fried golden goodness down my gullet. Although I still enjoy a burger or the occasional 70% subsidized corn and 30% All-White-Chicken McNugget. Alas, this stuff is bad mojo for you if you don’t want people shouting “Oh the humanity!” if you stroll by in a hip, flame-print bowling shirt so I’m cutting it out of my diet.
It’s bad enough that this stuff tastes good barring that you are from a country other than the United States of America where salt and grease aren’t the most popular flavoring agents. Its worse that this stuff converts from a food-like mass of chewed soy, unidentifiable gristle, salt and lard directly into ass-fat and a thin patina of plaque in your major arteries. No, the food isn’t what makes McDs so bad. It’s those damn commercials.

You would think that an entire ad marketed to a specific race using horrible stereotypes would provoke some kind of public outrage. You would think, from watching and listening to these things that the only people eating at McDonalds that aren’t black are urban hipsters in various shades of skin, ages and handicap. You would think that in the middle of every crappy, derelict housing project in New York there is a huge loft apartment with a constant party, filled to bursting with attractive people in designer clothes who all own instruments and big screen TVs and who could obviously afford to eat at places that start with Chez but instead bring in sacks of greasy Dollar Menu burgers to share with the Gap models who just came over to snort coke in the bathroom. You may think that every one of the guys who does the ‘I’m white and rap but it’s silly cause my accent makes me sound stereotypically, exaggeratedly white’ commercials should have a red hot poker coated in broken glass shoved into an orifice of his choosing. You would be wrong on all counts expect the latter.

After you get past the horrible, racially biased fairytale of football field sized loft apartments and urban areas which are safer and friendlier than Mayberry or the horrible bleached-to-a-glow white guys half heartedly volleying badly contrived lines and rapping about as well as Dick Cheney, you still have to hear The Jingle.

This little ditty was brought up from sulphurous bowels of hell by some leathery winged marketing executive to slowly chip away at the remaining sanity of the few of us who aren’t completely brainwashed into a semi-comatose state of breeding and purchasing. Behind those five notes is the quiet, collective whisper of several tenths of an IQ point evaporating away. I swear, every time I hear that awful, stinking jingle, I want, just a little bit more, to visit the Creation Museum.
I also have issue with the whole “I’m Lovin’ It” phrase. In their attempt to sound more urban and hip, they are basically reinforcing the fact that no one needs to be able to spell, that grammar is optional and that Americans are, in general, fanatical about fast food.

So, between trying to be a little healthier and the fact that I cringe every single time I hear or see one of these advertisements I am cutting down on my McDonalds consumption. Actually, to be healthier I am cutting down on all fast food consumption. I love to cook and I’m not too horrible at it, plus I don’t think a little convenience now is worth looking like a greasy, beached whale and having a coronary embolism and stroke at the same time later. I’m actually cutting out the McDonalds merely because every time I hear one of their commercials I remember how much I want to beat their entire marketing department to death with the festering, thumbtack studded corpse of Ray Kroc.