Folks, I love the McRib.
If you have been wondering how this sandwich keeps popping up, your search for the truth has come to an end. Through visualization and the irrefutable law of attraction, I have pulled the McRib back to us once again, at all participating locations.
My friends, I long for this McRib. Like the desert longs for rain, or how Miley Cyrus longs for attention. I don’t know where my love precisely began. The 90s were angst-ridden and full of memories. But the McRib’s devil-may-care attitude towards sauce-to-meat ratios mirrored the turbulence of the decade. We tied flannel shirts around our sagged jeans, wore steel-toed boots, and desired no vegetables other than the pickles and onions that adorned our beloved manna. We just. Didn’t. Care.
Like you, I am humble seeker of good things, and simply grateful to share this knowledge without any accolades or feats of gratitude. Imagine that you tell me, while eating a McRib, how awesome a McRib is, while I am also eating a McRib. And this whole conversation is happening while we’re standing in a line for more McRibs. It’s nice to talk, but what’s unsaid is understood. There is no reason to thank me. I do what I do for all of us.
I know that my mental bandwidth should be reserved to ponder greater things. The world is on fire. The future is more uncertain than the second season of that Netflix show you love but nobody at work watches. If historical eras were described as Marvin Gaye records, I’d be writing this in December of “Makes Me Wanna Holler.” It hardly seems like the time for odious rants about a boneless rib – which is as much of an oxymoron as “meatless deli” or “hilarious late night talk show.” I said what I said, Jimmy Fallon.
Or then again, maybe it’s the perfect time.
Our fear herds us. It boxes us into inaction – which is our mind’s safest, surest way to do its job and keep us alive. The mind has always known what JOSHUA the computer discovered in the still-too-plausible movie WarGames: “Sometimes the only winning move is not to play.”
But today, I wanted to be honest and silly. I wanted to write about a sandwich and feel a little less like cattle. Or sheep. Or whatever animal the McRib is made out of.
My current theory is platypus. Something that weird looking is probably yummy as fuck.
Go find a McRib. Live a little this week.