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A Brief Note, Upon Eating My First McRib

 

I just ate my first McRib and I think I’m having a panic attack. I am both satiated and nauseated. This kind of cognitive dissonance was a trademark of  the meal. In fact, were I to take it one step further, I’d say that the McRib is actually a carefully created deconstruction of a meal: The enjoyable flavors clash against the raw processed proteins, the tasty texture rubs against the injection-molded body of the feast.

Only humanity could create something as unnatural that tries so earnestly to be authentic. I won’t say it’s bad, but I can’t say it’s good. I’m more afraid than anything. I have begun to sweat. I may be having a stroke. I feel like I am looking down a horrible tunnel of infinity, and at the end is the McRib.

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