There are times in every fatass’s life, where he/she feels distraught, confused, and emotionally destroyed beyond repair. My current situation with McDonalds is a perfect example of a fatty’s moment of confliction.
As many of you fast food lovers may have noticed, McDonalds now charges for barbeque sauce. BARBEQUE SAUCE. They’re fucking charging for condiments now. If this is not a slap in the face to the fatass community, I don’t know what is. First of all, there is a fucking recession going on right now, McDonalds, are you aware? A RECESSION. With 25 cents per barbeque sauce, 2 chicken nuggets per sauce, and 10 nuggets in a ten-piece box, that adds up to an extra $1.25 for every order just for my goddamn condiments. I could get three more fresh baked cookies off the dollar menu with that shit. And second, do you have the slightest idea how much business I have given you over the years? You advertise “over 99 billion served”--my orders alone account for well over half of that number! I mean hell, if I had a quarter for every minute I spent sitting in the drive thru salivating over the thought of those apple pies, I would be able to afford my barbeque sauces you’re now charging me for.
I’m clearly passionate about this disgusting consumer abuse. It’s downright unjust. But as a loyal McDonalds customer, it is difficult for me to be so angry with them. It’s as if someone that I have loved for years cheated on me, stabbed me in the back. It hurts but I still love them. And what makes it even more confusing is they are now offering free glass Coke cups when you super-size any combo meal. I mean come on make up your mind, are you going to be an asshole or are you not? I would much rather get my barbeque sauces for free than a fucking cup I don’t even need (but desperately want, hello, let's be real, they’re collector’s items).
*Sigh* No one ever said being a fatass was easy. I suppose I thought that by losing all concern of maintaining a goal body weight, optimum health, and fitting into my clothes comfortably would mean less things to worry about. Boy, was that far from the truth. Now I am faced with all sorts of moments of confliction: Del Taco or Taco Bell, special sauce or ketchup and mustard, drive thru or sit down, leave a tip or peruse the dollar menu a second time. Although, amidst all the dilemmas and in the endless quest for truth, one thing remains sure: the answer to the question “would you like to super-size that?” is always “yes.”
These are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.