Stop Pretending Like You’re Too Good To Eat At McDonald’s
I’ve just filled my 08’ Chevrolet Impala up with gas. Full tank, baby. The engine is purrin’, and I’m just about ready to start my journey from Chicago to Michigan for a monumental college football game this weekend. I’m stoked, but my stomach is not.
I like to cook during the week. But the chicken pesto sandwich I had for lunch is no longer keeping my stomach at championship levels of full, and it’s not like I prepared anything for my four hour drive back to the Mitten state. I have a few options in front of me, but there is one restaurant which lies above all others on the hierarchy of road trip food.
Regionally speaking, everyone has their own fast food restaurant that they’ll defend to the death. Southerners and certain hotbed lacrosse areas on the east coast lay claim to Cook Out and Chick-fil-A. In the southwest you’ve got Whataburger and out west there’s In-N-Out.
And while I can wholly admit that all of these places are good in their own right, none of them really hold a flame to the golden arches.
Yeah. Bill Simmons and I aren’t afraid to go there.. To quote the great Eric Andre, “Oh, I’m sayin’ it!”
McDonalds. The original fast food. In recent years I’ve seen a whole lot of disgusting vitriol thrown Mickey D’s way, with people saying that it’s processed garbage and that it can be pointed to as a direct link to childhood obesity. I hear friends say things like “McDonald’s is trash food for trash people” and “Why eat at McDonalds when you have so many other options?”
And while those are semi-valid points and I can see where someone with a trash traveling pallette could say these things, the fact of the matter is that McDonald’s is really fucking good. It’s served billions of people all over the world for a reason. Think about that for a moment. All of those other joints I mentioned? They’re good, but they aren’t served billions good.
I’m not eating at Mickey D’s seven days a week. It’s a special treat when I roll up to a counter or drive through and order the two cheeseburger meal with a Coca-Cola classic. I reserve McDonald’s for road trips and for when I’m flying.
It keeps me honest, and on the few occasions where I get to fly or drive a long distance, McDonald’s is there to embrace with open arms, sort of like a warm vagina gripping all sides of my erect penis.
I can go to Taiwan, Sri Lanka, Ukraine, and Romania and get the same tasting meal from McDonalds that I could get in Chicago or Detroit.
Perhaps this ripping of the golden arches is an attempt to mask your own shortcomings? People look down from their ivory towers on McDonalds for some reason that I can’t really put my finger on. It seems that ever since Bark Pops, smoothie bowls, and fucking veggie sticks came on the scene everyone is just too good to dine at McDonald’s. Gucci Mane once said “Man I love that bitch/The way she look and moan/When she taking it/And don’t mind McDonald’s/Ain’t no bougie bitch.”
We’ve turned our backs on Mickey D’s. But who was there for you at 1:30 in the afternoon your junior year of college during that tailgate when you either needed to get some food or go to sleep? Who was there for you at O’Hare International when you had but ten minutes to spare before you boarded your plane, but still wanted to put something in your stomach? McDonald’s was. Through thick and thin.
The only thing McDonald’s has ever brought me is joy and happiness. I’m not telling you that you need to start eating at McDonald’s for every meal. Far from it. That’d be suicide. But every so often, whether it be on a long drive to a relative or friends home, or it’s in a terminal at your least favorite, go for gold.
And by gold I mean a medium french fry and a couple of cheeseburgers from America’s number one fast food restaurant, Mickey D’s, more affectionately known as Donald’s Place. Don’t be a bougie bitch. Ba da ba ba ba, I’m lovin’ it. And so should you.