I am not loving this.
The McCheese regime is no more. His power lessened and lessened, day by day, until the massive, purple arms of Grimace did him in. The final breaths from his disgusting, 100% real beef mouth steeped in irony. The four-armed purple beast had just wanted a shake. He’d seemed so friendly.
His original moniker, Evil Grimace, seemed so mistaken at the time. That’s why we stopped calling him that, this gentle beast was no monster. He was a being like you, or I, or the Hamburglar fellow. He had wants. He had desires. Unfortunately, both of those things were milkshakes.
It seemed so obvious. Grimace would remain loyal, docile, to McCheese as long as the shakes flowed. And flowed they did, for a period of time. When times were good – long, long ago, when times were good – Grimace received whatever libations he wanted. Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, Shamrock – even during the non-Irish months – they were his.
But things started to turn. Officer Big Mac became corrupt. Or, rather, his corruption became more braizen. What had started as an extra patty here and there, some sesame seeds to take home had turned rotten. Slathering after slathering of Special Sauce had turned him fat, disinterested, and volatile.
It was his harsh punishment of the Hamburglar that was really the linchpin. To try to extort such a pathetic man as that – A man whose entire source of income and nutrition relies on the burgers he burgles. That vicious, vicious beating at the cane of Officer Mac… The tyranny. The horror, the indignance it can’t be stated properly no matter how many words I spend on it.
That’s how I knew it was crumbling. Melting. Like a 50-cent apple pie. McDonaldland couldn’t last. It was strong once – now it’s the source of comedy.
Comedy. That fucking clown. I haven’t laughed in years and yet that damnable clown still puts on the big shoes, the white gloves, the stripey shirt. That awful, awful clown with his dog he canonically has. Ronald, more than the cop, the establishment, he represents this. Pretending nothing’s wrong when everything’s crashing.
Just the other day, I saw those pitiable Fry Guys and… christ, Birdie, the Early Bird, scrounging for food in a dumpster. It was three in the morning. Pitch black out. Only the eyes of Mac Tonight looking down at them. You fucking look me in the eye and tell me that’s normal.
McDonaldland has fallen. McDonaldland has fallen.